


To Ignite the Stars

by obidalanetwork_archivist



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, Incomplete, Movie: Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 52
Words: 249,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26213113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obidalanetwork_archivist/pseuds/obidalanetwork_archivist
Summary: AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padmé and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4
Collections: Obidala Network





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Nadia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Obidala Network](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Obidala_Network) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2020. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Obidala Network’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/obidalanetwork/profile).

Birth of Friends

Her face was streaked with sweat, her clothes were rumpled and dirty, and her hair was falling out of its elaborate arrangement, but to Padmé Amidala, none of that mattered.

She had won the day. Against all odds, the small band of rebels had managed to sneak into the city and forcibly remove it from the Trade Federation’s control. A few days ago she would have thought the plan utterly impossible, even preposterous, and certain to fail. But they had planned carefully, they had developed contingencies in case of unforeseen circumstances, and they were now being rewarded with the liberation of their planet.

Padmé brushed a stray strand of hair back from her face as she walked down the front steps of the palace in Theed. “This day could not possibly have turned out better,” she remarked to her security chief, Captain Panaka. “I still cannot believe we did it.”

“I must give credit where it’s due, Your Highness,” Panaka replied. “You were responsible for the conception of this plan. I had my doubts, as I believe I expressed to you, but I’ll wholeheartedly retract those statements now.”

“Many things could have gone wrong,” Padmé assured him. “You were right to worry. It’s just our good fortune that the results were favourable.”

“Indeed.”

They had reached the foot of the staircase now. Panaka turned to the security officers holding Viceroy Gunray and Rune Haako captive. “Take the prisoners to a holding cell and see that they are kept under guard at all times. We will request a Republic transport to be sent for them immediately.”

One of the officers nodded. “Understood, sir.”

“Captain, wait!” exclaimed Padmé as the officers began to walk away. A sudden thought had entered her mind. “Has there been any word from the Jedi? Did they return from the battle?”

Her heart pounded furiously in her chest as she awaited his answer.

Panaka thought for a moment, looking slightly puzzled. “No, I don’t believe so. I can send an officer to check around the hangar, if you like.”

“Yes, please, if you could,” Padmé said.

She had no idea why it was so important to her, and from the look on Panaka’s face, he didn’t either. But Padmé knew, as surely as she knew that war was bad and comfort good, that the Jedi needed to be found. That perhaps, they might even be in trouble.

Trouble. If Obi-Wan’s in trouble, it’s all your fault, an accusing little voice said.

***

Hours later, Padmé stood in the square.

Her cheeks were now streaked with tears as well as grime.

Qui-Gon. Dead.

Thinking of that fact still brought a wrench to her chest. Despite her earlier criticisms, she had grown to like and respect the elder Jedi, and to understand his bond with Obi-Wan. They seemed much more like father and son than Master and Apprentice, although Padmé knew they’d also had their differences over the course of this mission. But they seemed to have patched those up before the battle, and were being just as civil as they’d been when the conflict had started.

Now, Qui-Gon was gone.

Brushing a strand of hair back from her eyes, Padmé spotted a figure making its way across the distant road towards the crematory. Qui-Gon’s body had been laid there for the ceremony to take place at sunset. That wasn’t for hours, though. So who was going to visit there now?

She was going to turn away and go back into the palace; there were many more tasks that required her attention. But curiosity soon got the better of her, and she found herself trotting through the square and peeking around the wall of the crematory.

It was Obi-Wan.

He laid his hand carefully upon the dead man’s forehead, whispering unintelligible words. Clearly they were meant to be a last goodbye, and Padmé had no wish to intrude upon what seemed to be a very private grief.

She turned to the square, intending to hurry away before he realized she’d been there, when she heard a sudden noise behind her. Confused, Padmé looked back to see that Obi-Wan had sunk to his knees, tucking his head into his chest. His shoulders were shaking.

Padmé bit her lip. What should she do? Go back to the palace as she’d planned? Tell someone else so that they could comfort him? Comfort him herself?

You’ve been wanting to talk to him in an unofficial capacity ever since the Jedi arrived here, the little voice reminded her. Now’s your chance!

Somehow, this wasn’t the opportunity Padmé had had in mind.

Almost before she knew it, she was kneeling beside the younger Jedi, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Master Kenobi?” Padmé whispered.

He looked up, tears visible on his face. When he saw who it was his hand came quickly up to brush them away. “Your Highness,” he stammered, “is – is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” she replied, slightly wrongfooted. “I was just wondering if you’re all right. I was very sorry to hear about Qui-Gon. I know how much he meant to you.”

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to look surprised. “I – I’m fine. Just, er …” He coughed. “Wanted to make sure everything was in order for the ceremony later.”

Padmé nodded. “Yes, yes, of course. I just thought you might want to … well, talk to someone about what happened. A friend.”

Smooth, Padmé, the voice mocked. You’ve barely spoken to him in a week and now you’re expecting him to think of you as a friend?

Obi-Wan didn’t seem to notice, though. “I appreciate the sentiment, Your Highness. I suppose, too … I just wanted to, well, say goodbye.” He paused again, and looked quickly away.

She let him, keeping her own counsel as his shoulders again shook slightly. This time, though, he did not turn back to her, curling once more around himself.

Padmé wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it. But suddenly she was leaning towards him, touching his shoulder and then … enfolding him within her arms.

“Obi-Wan,” she whispered, “come here.”

To her surprise, he did not resist. She had expected him to pull away, expected him to reel off the Jedi Code principles prohibiting attachment, expected him even to say that she had no business here, no right to intrude like this. But he did none of those things.

Instead, he slumped into her arms, sobbing quietly.

Padmé was shocked for a moment, but only a moment. She let herself relax, clutching him tightly and patting his back occasionally, trying to murmur soothing words. But she sensed that her intent should not be to soothe him, or to try and make the pain go away. I could never do that. But maybe, just maybe, I can offer him comfort.

They remained there, unmoving, until the first rays of the sunset began to touch the crematory.

***

The following day, Padmé was dressing in preparation for the victory parade when a knock came at her door.

Sabé hurried to answer it, then turned back to her mistress. “It’s Master Kenobi, Your Highness,” she said. “Shall I let him in?”

“Of course,” Padmé replied. “Please leave us, and tell Sio Bibble and the other officials that I will be down momentarily.”

“Yes, m’lady.” Sabé finished applying a last touch of makeup to Padmé’s face, then left the Queen and the Jedi alone.

“Your Highness –” Obi-Wan began, but Padmé cut him off.

“Please, call me Padmé,” she requested. “I think we can both agree that we are beyond the honorifics at this point.”

“All right … Padmé,” he said, and she decided she liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. “I just … I wanted to thank you. For yesterday. For … for being there, and for caring. I didn’t expect anyone to come and find me, but I am grateful that you did.”

“It was nothing,” Padmé answered, and she meant it. “I’m not sure what compelled me to do so. I suppose I simply thought you might want the support of a friend. Even though we aren’t close,” she quickly clarified.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Nor am I sure, but I do know this: it wasn’t an accident. When you reside within the Force, you see that there is no such thing as fortune. Clearly, we were meant to meet in that circumstance.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “Er – oh. Do you … do you know why the Force willed that to happen?”

“The future is always in motion,” he replied. “It isn’t possible to see at this point. But what is possible is that the Force has something in mind for us. A political alliance, or perhaps a point in the future in which we will assist each other …”

“Or a friendship?” offered Padmé.

He smiled, the first genuine smile she had seen him wear since before the battle. “Yes. Or perhaps a friendship.”

“I think that sounds nice,” Padmé said.

“As do I. Could we – write to each other? On flimsiplast, for security reasons, of course. But if you don’t mind, I should very much like to send you letters.”

“I’d like that, too,” she replied. “I’d like that very much.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

The Idea of Home

PERSONAL RECORD: OBI-WAN KENOBI  
Returning to Coruscant after what we have been through might seem almost anticlimactic to some, but I don’t consider it so. I was glad, and I believe Anakin was too, to receive the news reports indicating that Senator Amidala, Padmé, had in fact survived the assassination attempt which took place earlier today. Anakin in particular has always had a certain amount of affection for her since the Battle of Naboo. I would have thought such an affection might have subsided by this time, as he immerses himself in his training, but the evidence indicates that it hasn’t. His face split into the widest smile possible when the Jedi Council informed us that Padmé is alive and well and addressed the Senate this very afternoon.

I must admit that no small amount of relief passed through me as well at this news. Padmé is a very dear friend of mine and although we haven’t spoken for several years now, we have maintained a steady correspondence and we keep one another well up to date with what is going on in our lives. Anakin used to joke that Padmé and I were really secretly in love, and were writing love letters to one another rather than simple accounts of what managed to occupy us on a daily basis. Such a remark inevitably prompted another lecture from me on the Jedi Code and all that it does and does not permit, but he stubbornly refused to give up. I note that he doesn’t say such things much anymore; perhaps this is a signal that those hard years of training are finally sinking in. At least, this is my hope.

We have now been assigned by the Council to guard Padmé in the wake of this latest assassination attempt. Though they made it clear that this assignment is only one of protection, and not of investigation, I have been unable to convince Anakin of this simple fact. He insists that we must also find those responsible for the attacks, only to be reminded that our mandate precludes this. I do hope he listens, though experience tells me otherwise.

I must now end, as meditation is required.

“Master? Master!” Anakin bounded through the quarters he shared with Obi-Wan, feeling like an excitable child. Such behaviour was immature, he supposed, and he knew he ought to take a moment and sit down and meditate away the emotion lest he receive a lecture from Obi-Wan, but he couldn’t. Not when things were happening, not when his life was just beginning, not when he was about to be reunited with the woman he had loved since he was young.

“Master, I –” He was about to go on when he realized Obi-Wan was facing away from him, sitting cross-legged on a woven mat. “Oops,” he muttered, and turned to leave.

“Padawan? Have you completed the meditation ritual I set for you today?” Obi-Wan didn’t even turn around.

Anakin blushed and shuffled his feet a bit. “Well … it depends on how you define completion,” he finally admitted.

“No need to dance around the issue; I know you haven’t done it,” sighed Obi-Wan. “Please complete the task I set you now, then we may leave.”

“Oh.” Anakin’s shoulders sank. “Can’t I just meditate at Padmé’s place?”

“No. Your mind must be perfectly centred on the task ahead of you if you are to perform it well. Remember, your focus determines your reality.”

Anakin sighed and shuffled over to his mat. “Okay, okay. For how long?”

“However long it takes until you are focused.”

Obi-Wan kept one eye on his Padawan as he got to his feet and began making preparations for the task ahead. He did not feel nervous, not to the extent of the feelings he could sense emanating from Anakin as clearly as a non-Jedi might read anger or happiness on another’s face. Rather, he felt a sense of familiarity: almost as though he was returning home after a long period of absence.

Of course, this was an absurd notion – the Jedi Temple was the only home Obi-Wan had ever had. He was raised there from infancy, with the comforting surroundings and soothing Force presences of his fellow Jedi. To regard being reunited with Padmé as “coming home” seemed almost laughable. And yet …

And yet a part of him, a part he had tried to suppress through the meditation and self-discipline he had been taught, still whispered to him that Padmé did represent a kind of home, that of the emotional type. A long time ago, when he had still been a Padawan himself, he’d had a different sort of home. A strong, stable, fatherly home, a home that contained advice and comfort and something close to love. That home had been Qui-Gon, but it was now no more.

Obi-Wan had tried to forget, had tried to be the stable, stoic role model that he knew Qui-Gon would have expected him to be. He had not broken down in front of Anakin, who was still young and impressionable and needed to learn to control his emotions as a Jedi should. He had saved his tears through the cremation ceremony, even as Anakin cried next to him, even as he searched for words to comfort his new Padawan that he so desperately needed to hear himself. But there was no one left to deliver them to him.

Except …

After the crowd had dispersed, after everyone had left to attend a welcoming dinner for the new Chancellor Palpatine, Obi-Wan had remained standing next to the plinth on which his Master’s body had burned. Even Anakin, after giving him a questioning glance, had retreated. Only one person had not. He felt a small, slim hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Padmé said softly. She was dressed as the Queen, but for now, she was just Padme. Just the girl – woman – he had befriended and come to respect.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan automatically replied. He had accepted so many condolences that day, what was one more?

“He was a great credit to the Jedi,” she continued. “Qui-Gon did so much for Naboo … I’ll always be thankful for that. He saved us, Obi-Wan. He died a hero.”

“I just –” Obi-Wan felt his stoic façade slipping, and had to fight for control. He stared at his feet rather than Padmé as he went on. “I just wish he didn’t have to leave us behind. Me behind. It’s so selfish of me to think that, but I can’t – can’t help it.”

She came to him then, wrapped her arms around him and simply held him against her chest. “It’s not selfish,” she whispered. “It’s human. He was the closest person you had to a father. It’s natural that you should miss him.”

Pressed against her warmth, breathing in the sweet scent of her perfume and hearing her gentle voice, he could finally let go. The emotional control that had sustained him through the battle, through the Knighting ceremony, through his discussion with Yoda about Anakin’s training, finally failed him.

He wept in her arms, and Padmé did not pull away. Nor did she speak the platitudes so many others had plied him with. Instead, she held him, and grieved with him, and was the comforting presence he so needed. Obi-Wan had not been able to forget that kindness, nor would he have wanted to. It was the catalyst for their friendship, a friendship that would last through the decade to come.

Sighing, Obi-Wan shook himself from his daydreams. It was all well and good to remember what had happened on that day, but much had changed since then. He had changed, and Padmé was bound to have done so as well. They hadn’t written each other in two years. She would remember, certainly, but would she care as much as she had in those days?

Perhaps it doesn’t matter how much she cares, Obi-Wan thought as he watched Anakin try, try once more and then finally give up on his meditations. I care just as much as I once did. If not more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

A Triangle's Birth

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
Cordé’s dead.

I can’t believe it. I just can’t. I keep hoping that this is somehow a bad dream, and I’ll wake up and I’ll be in my bed at Mom and Dad’s and I won’t have flown to Coruscant yet and I’ll somehow be able to prevent what just happened. But this isn’t a dream. Oh, how I wish it were. Perhaps writing about it will cleanse me of the sadness and grief I feel. I’ve insisted that Typho and Dormé give me a few moments with my datapad, even though I am supposed to rendezvous with Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi in a few moments. But he will wait.

The trip was going so well. It takes nearly half of a day to fly to Coruscant from Naboo, so I spent the first day on my senatorial starship. Then we landed on Bespin to refuel and so that I could climb into one of the Naboo fighters and act as a pilot. This was all part of the security decoy system that Typho and Panaka worked out. R2 did most of the flying involved, being a much better pilot than I could ever be. Cordé took my place aboard the starship, and dressed in my clothing.

Everything seemed to be going so well. The ugly industrial world of Coruscant came into view. The fighters streaked around the starship, protecting it. We landed on the platform in heavy cloud. Or was it fog? I can never tell how high I am when on Coruscant, so I can’t really say.

I jumped out of my fighter and ran to join Typho, R2D2 following along behind. Cordé and another security detail came down the ramp from the starship. We discussed the simplicity of the journey. And then the world exploded.

I’m not sure exactly what happened. Typho told me later that a mine had been planted on the platform underneath the starship. But I don’t really care to discuss specifics at the moment. All I know is that I was suddenly flat on my back on the ground surrounded by burning fragments and the charred members of the security detail. Typho was lying a few feet away with R2. He immediately sprang to his feet and helped me up.

I wasn’t aware of starting to run, but evidently I did. All the way over to the wreckage of the ship where Cordé lay. I could tell immediately that she was severely injured, even though I’ve received no medical training. There was just a certain … look, I suppose. I don’t know, it’s difficult for me to put into words exactly what I felt.

She rolled over, and with her dying breath proclaimed that she had failed me. I tried to tell her no, she had done her job exactly, she had saved me, she was going to be all right … Typho was at my side by then … and she rolled over … and the life just went out of her.

I am still wrestling with the guilt even now. She died for me. She died because I had to return to Coruscant for this vote. The vote is important, yes, but is it something worth dying for? I believed before that it was. Now I’m not so sure. It’s just, when you’ve seen someone you admire and consider a friend pass on, your priorities tend to readjust.

Not that I’m thinking of pulling out of the vote. Oh, no, far from it. I owe it to Corde and all she stood for to continue with my duties. I haven’t worked for months to defeat the Act to simply slink away when the time comes. But is it worth death? Is it worth all that Corde must have gone through in the minutes after the explosion? I don’t know the answer. I hope one day I will find it.

Nevertheless, duty had to continue. Duty always must come first. Typho and Dormé and the remaining security detail loaded me hurriedly into a transport and we raced to my apartments – so I could change into more appropriate clothing – and then to the Senate, which was already in session. Of course they were arguing over the Military Creation Act. Jar Jar has told me that this is all they do these days. Somehow I’m not surprised.

Chancellor Palpatine was quite surprised to see me, as were other members of the Senate. Apparently they all believed that the assassination attempt had succeeded, and that I had been killed. Needless to say I was happy to set them right, although I did bring up the subject and questions that have been burning so brightly in my mind today: how many more have to needlessly die while we debate this Act, and the growing Separatist threat? Can’t we just put it to a vote and settle the question once and for all? Of course there was opposition. There always is. No one can seem to agree anymore. I’m not sure if they ever really did. The Separatists seem to grow ever stronger, and my fellow Senators are frightened. Fear is, unfortunately, a very powerful motivator.

I was hoping to retire and gather my thoughts after the Senate adjourned, but I couldn’t. The Loyalist Committee, of which I am a member, was convening in the Chancellor’s office and given my views on the Separatists and the fact that someone had just tried to kill me, my presence there was absolutely necessary.

The Jedi were present. Master Mace Windu and Master Yoda disputed my belief that Count Dooku was behind the mine, but I am still firm in holding that belief. What does it matter if it’s supposedly not in his character? As I have already indicated, fear can be a powerful motivator. Perhaps others think that this is illogical, but I just have a feeling about it. I can’t explain it.

But finally the Committee also adjourned and I was able to return here, to my apartments, to finally think and reflect a little on the day’s events. And although I am just as saddened over Cordé’s death as I was before I began this entry, I think writing it has helped me begin to work through my feelings a little. So thank you for listening.

And now I must go, because I fear that to keep Master Kenobi waiting any longer would border on rudeness.

Padmé snapped shut her datapad. She was being foolish; how could writing about something possibly make one feel better about it? She could still see in her mind’s eye what had happened on the landing pad that day. Hearing the screams of those wounded, the distant roar of the fire brigades, the rhythm of her pounding footsteps as she fought her way across the burning platform to Cordé. Only to hear the words, “I’m sorry, m’lady … I’ve failed you, Senator,” from her friend’s mouth. And to watch as the spirit left her friend’s body, and the guilt … oh, the crushing guilt.

“M’lady?”

Captain Typho’s authoritative voice startled her out of her daydreams. Padmé slid instantly into her practiced politician’s persona.

“Yes, Captain. Are the Jedi expected soon?”

“They are. I have just sent for Master Kenobi; he and his Padawan apprentice will be arriving momentarily.”

“All right,” Padmé replied. “I will wait for them here.”

“Understood.”

And again, Padmé was left with her thoughts. Part of her wanted to be alone, but another part was desperate for companionship and understanding. Understanding from whom, she could not be sure. She had spent much of her life surrounded by people, and yet many times she felt lonely, as though someone was missing. A friend, a confidante, someone who truly understood what it was to grieve a friend. Someone like – Obi-Wan.

Why am I thinking like this? Padmé scolded herself. True, she and Obi-Wan had been friends for many years, but they hadn’t directly spoken to one another in two years. He was a Jedi, he had his own duties to take care of and Anakin to train. She didn’t feel right bothering him with petty, day-to-day concerns.

And now he’ll be guarding me, she thought, rising and walking to the window. Does that mean we can renew our friendship? No, no, he’ll probably want to retain some kind of distance. We were friends, but that was a long time ago. He has probably moved on, and I should too.

But somehow she couldn’t. Padmé remembered his deep blue eyes. When you looked into them, you sometimes felt he was seeing past your physical self, directly into you. She remembered his clipped, musical Coruscanti accent. She remembered how they had bonded over Qui-Gon’s death, how she had comforted him, how they had danced together at the Chancellor’s ball afterwards and agreed to keep in touch. He had been a great friend, but friends drift apart. And she didn’t want to make him feel obligated to continue their friendship if he was no longer interested.

“Lookie, lookie, Senator! Desa Jedi arriving!” A high, excited voice interrupted her thoughts. It was Jar-Jar, announcing the arrival of Obi-Wan and his apprentice.

Padmé turned to face them. Force, he hasn’t changed much, she found herself thinking. The eyes, the accent … his hair is longer, but he still looks the same. She swallowed down an urge to rush forwards and embrace him.

“It’s a great pleasure to see you again, m’lady,” Obi-Wan said formally, extending his hand.

“It has been far too long, Master Kenobi,” Padmé replied equally formally. If this was the way he wanted to treat her, she needed to respect his wishes. “I’m so glad our paths have crossed again, but I must warn you that I think your presence here is unnecessary.”

Obi-Wan accepted this without a blink. “I’m sure the Jedi Council have their reasons.”

She bit back her disappointment, at the same time scolding herself again. Why are you thinking like this? He is your bodyguard, he is no different from Typho or Panaka or any of the other security personnel surrounding you. But even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie. Obi-Wan was different. He was her friend, they’d been with each other before in a capacity outside that of professionalism, and that was what made him different.

Padmé shook those thoughts from her head as she turned to face Obi-Wan’s Padawan apprentice. The blonde hair, the blue eyes just as clear as Obi-Wan’s, but with an added fire, the height, the adult expression … could this really be Anakin, the little slave boy she had met so long ago?

“Ani?” Padmé gaped at him, unintentionally. “My goodness, you’ve grown!”

Anakin stared into her eyes, then down her profile, for a long time. “So have you. Grown more beautiful, I mean. Well, for a Senator, I mean,” he said clumsily.

Obi-Wan shot him a disapproving glance, but Padmé only laughed and shook her head. “Oh, Ani, you’ll always be that little boy I knew on Tatooine,” she smiled, and then moved to the couch, ignoring the disappointment that flashed over his face.

“Our presence will be invisible, m’lady, of course,” Obi-Wan began, seating himself on the couch directly opposite Padmé. His gaze was inscrutable.

“I am very grateful you’re here, Master Kenobi,” said Captain Typho, coming to stand behind Padmé. “The situation is more dangerous than the Senator will admit.”

“I don’t need more security, I need answers,” Padmé countered, addressing Obi-Wan. “I want to know who’s trying to kill me.”

A glimmer of understanding, recognition even, flashed in Obi-Wan’s eyes, but when he spoke, the formal tone had not left. “We’re here to protect you, Senator, not to start an investigation.”

“We will find out who is trying to kill you, Padmé,” Anakin said firmly. “I promise you.”

This finally drew Obi-Wan’s attention away from Padmé. “We are not going to exceed our mandate, my young Padawan learner,” he said sharply.

Anakin quickly tried to backpedal. “I meant in the interest of protecting her, Master, of course.”

Padmé watched the dynamic with interest.

“We are not going through this exercise again, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan wearily. “And you will pay attention to my lead.”

“Why?” Anakin stared back defiantly. Padmé was suddenly visited by the unpleasant realization that he was trying to impress her. Show off for her, demonstrate how much wisdom he had acquired.

The dirty look she threw him was matched in intensity only by Obi-Wan’s incredulity. “What?” he said.

Sensing Padmé’s disapproval, Anakin hurriedly looked for an excuse. “Why else do you think we were assigned to her, if not to find the killer?” he said in a rush. “Protection is a job for local security, not Jedi. It’s overkill, Master, investigation is implied in our mandate.”

“We will do exactly as the Council has instructed,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “And you will learn your place, young one.” He was looking distinctly uncomfortable and embarrassed.

“Perhaps with merely your presence, the mysteries surrounding this threat will be revealed,” Padmé offered, hoping to restore calm. Obi-Wan glanced at her with approval and thanks in his eyes; she smiled and rose. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will retire.”

Dormé, who had been waiting by the door, picked up the signal and escorted her out.

***

Such a small, common ritual. Every night, Padmé sat in front of her mirrored vanity, brushing her hair. This was a task she would not even allow her handmaidens to be present for, even though they were of great assistance to her at other times. Padmé brushed her hair alone because it gave her time to think in relative privacy and solitude. And tonight, she had so much to think about.

Anakin and Obi-Wan. She had never been closer to two men, although it had been two years since she had spoken with Obi-Wan and many more since she had even seen Anakin. Obi-Wan was calm, polite, formal. He was also caring, gentle and witty. Anakin was headstrong, fiery, passionate. Each of them had different ways to draw her attention. Obi-Wan could communicate so much by a look, an eyeroll, a smile, while Anakin knew only concrete ways to show his interest. He had tried to impress her, he had tried to show off with sweet talk, he had agreed with her, though it was not his place to do so.

What were her feelings? What did she want? Padmé could almost hear her sister Sola asking that question. She had done so just two weeks earlier when Padmé had gone home to visit her family. “Stop thinking about the rest of the galaxy for once,” Sola had chided her. “Think about yourself. What is best for Padmé Amidala? What does Padmé Amidala really want?”

Padmé’s intuition, which usually served her so well when difficult questions were posed, was mysteriously silent on the issue.

The illogical part of her mind, the part she frequently pretended did not exist, whispered of secret fantasies and midnight encounters. Lips on hers, the prickle of a beard, a hand trailing down to caress her breast, a clipped Coruscanti accent telling her how beautiful and attractive she was …

Padmé caught her breath. She was sweating, her chest heaving, brush stationary in her hair. Had she really just gone that deeply into an intimate fantasy about Obi-Wan? What was wrong with her? He was a Jedi, but more than that, he was her friend. Just her friend, she reminded herself. And maybe not even that anymore.

Knock, knock.

Someone was at her door.

Could it possibly be …? “Who is it?” Padmé called.

“Anakin,” came the answer.

Stifling a disappointment that she knew she shouldn’t feel, Padmé reached for her dressing gown and draped it about her shoulders before making her way to the door. She wasn’t sure why she was taking such precautions, since she had never before been modest. She knew that many men found her physically attractive, and at times that had even been an asset, but she had never felt for anyone what she was beginning to feel for Anakin … and Obi-Wan even moreso.

Anakin smiled broadly when she opened the door. “Hello,” he said, barely-concealed excitement in his eyes.

“Is everything all right?” Padmé asked, arranging her face into what she hoped was a puzzled smile.

He blinked, having been caught midway through another admiration of her. “Oh, yes,” he stammered. “Yes, my Master has gone to the lower levels to check on Captain Typho’s security measures, but all seems quiet.”

This time she really did feel confused by his words. “You sound disappointed.”

Anakin chuckled nervously. Now he couldn’t seem to look at her at all.

“You don’t enjoy this,” Padmé stated.

“There is nowhere else in all the galaxy I’d rather be!” he exclaimed, and the almost desperate sincerity showed in his voice.

She bit her lip. Why did that simple statement make her feel so strange? So – uncomfortable? “But this … inertia,” she clarified. “It disturbs you.”

“We should be more aggressive in our search for the assassin,” Anakin said firmly. “To sit back and wait is to invite disaster!”

“Master Kenobi does not agree,” Padmé blurted, then blushed. Why had she brought up Obi-Wan? He was bound to be a sensitive subject given the way they had quarreled this afternoon. Silently she berated herself.

“Master Kenobi is bound by the letter of the orders,” explained Anakin, seeming not to notice her difficulty. “He won’t take a chance on doing anything that isn’t explicitly asked of him by the Jedi Council. Master Kenobi is not like his own Master. Master Qui-Gon understood the need for independent thinking and initiative – otherwise, he would have left me on Tatooine.”

Again Padmé found herself thinking of Obi-Wan, and losing focus on the conversation. Did he still mourn Qui-Gon’s death as sharply as he had first done? Did he still miss his gentle guidance? Did he still thinking about the way he had bonded with her after the cremation ceremony? Was he thankful for her comfort, or had he resented the intrusion upon what had been a very private grief?

Again she forced herself back to the present. “And you are more like Master Qui-Gon?” she asked.

“I accept the duties I am given, but demand the leeway I need to see them to a proper conclusion,” Anakin said.

Padmé blinked. “Demand?”

Anakin shrugged, blushing a bit. “Well, I ask, at least.”

“And presume, when you can’t get the answers you desire,” she teased.

“I do the best I can with every problem I am given,” he firmly replied.

There was an awkward pause.

“Anakin, does Obi-Wan – does Obi-Wan ever talk about Qui-Gon?” Padmé said suddenly. Before she could stop herself, she went on, “Do you think he still misses him? Mourns for him, on the anniversary of his death?”

It was Anakin’s turn to look politely puzzled. “I would imagine so,” he said. “He never discusses such matters directly with me, though. Master Obi-Wan is … somewhat reluctant to show any trace of emotion. I think he believes it is a sign of weakness.”

No, he doesn’t, Padmé thought. He just wants to be a good role model. “But it’s not,” she said. “To show emotions is to be human.”

“To let go of your emotions is to be a Jedi,” Anakin countered. “I’ll admit it is a task I sometimes have difficulty with. Perhaps that’s why my Master is reluctant to display emotions.”

“Perhaps,” Padmé murmured, as much to herself as to Anakin. She lowered her eyes, remembering again the flames of the landing pad, the screams of the dying, the –

“Padmé? Are you all right?” asked Anakin with sudden concern.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” she automatically replied. “It has been a very trying day. I just need sleep.”

He accepted this. “Well – see you tomorrow, then. Rest well.”

“I will,” she said, and softly closed the door.

Anakin could offer comfort, but not the sort of comfort she needed or wanted. Only one person could truly help her in that regard, and he was somewhere downstairs, consulting with her security team. Perhaps he would not even bother to come up, but would instead rely on Anakin to handle things.

Suddenly, she felt unspeakably, irrevocably alone.

Padmé was sliding into bed, pulling the covers over herself, when a second knock sounded. Oh, now who is it? I told Anakin I was going to sleep! With a heavy sigh she pulled on her gown and headed once more for the door.

It was Obi-Wan.

“Padmé,” he said softly, “I am so sorry.”

And without a word, without even an acknowledgment, she slipped into his arms. He held her tight to his chest, murmuring soothing words into her hair, and she finally began to cry. She had found the one place she knew she could truly grieve.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Unable to Stay, Unwilling to Leave

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
I do not believe I have ever been angrier in my entire life.

All the difficulty involved in getting to Coruscant, all the security measures and precautions and the Jedi being recruited to serve as my protectors, all of it was for naught. I am to return to Naboo today on the orders of the Supreme Chancellor himself. I am not to object, I have no recourse if I should wish to protest, and to make absolutely sure I obey, Anakin Skywalker has been assigned to go with me.

Do they think me some sort of disobedient child who deserves to be punished? It is not my fault that unknown assassins are making attempts on my life! It is not my fault that one of them almost succeeded last night! So why must I take the fall for this? Why must I leave the capital, and give up all I have worked for these long months? I did not come back to Coruscant to simply slink away back to Naboo at the first sign of danger!

Of course, outsiders are not to know I have left, so Dormé will be remaining behind to act in my stead while Jar-Jar represents me in the Senate. I only hope that he is up to the challenge. He is very – dedicated, and his intentions are nothing if not pure, but he still has much to learn about being a Senatorial Representative. Hopefully Dormé will be able to guide him using the notes and datapads I will be leaving behind.

This is yet another decision I must take issue with: the fact that Dormé is being left behind. I have already sacrificed one of my friends on this journey. My blood boils at the thought that Cordé may have died in vain. After all, what precisely have I accomplished on Coruscant, other than to disappoint an assassin not once but twice, reunite with two old friends and address the Senate with words I have spoken many times before? Needless to say that is not what I HOPED to accomplish.

Yes, it has been very nice to see Obi-Wan and Anakin again, but other than that I have served no purpose. I have not cast my vote against a possible army of the Republic, I have not spoken out nearly enough against the Military Creation Act and other than one short meeting, I have not completed necessary tasks with the Loyalist Committee. While it is true that I will be able to catch some of this up while on Naboo, no comlink connection can quite replace my presence on Coruscant.

Does this mean that Cordé did die in vain? I am hoping not. Captain Typho can tell me that she did her duty all he wishes, but in the end, the onus is on me to recover and to be sure she did NOT die in vain. The only way to accomplish this is to speak out against the MCA and then to cast my vote against it. And the only way to do that is to stay on Coruscant!

I will admit one positive happening: the renewal of my friendship with Obi-Wan. Yes, I know I mentioned it above, but I wish to speak about it when I’m not in a transport of anger. He helped me last night. Really, he did. In his arms I finally found the peace I had been seeking throughout the day. Obi-Wan is a familiar, calming presence. I am able to be myself with him, as I cannot with anyone else.

In a way, I wish he were the one accompanying me to Naboo, instead of Anakin. I’m not sure why I wish this. I know only that while Anakin pretends to be mature, Obi-Wan is ACTUALLY mature. He does not need to resort to cheap tactics and tricks to impress me. We are … beyond that, somehow. Obi-Wan is himself without realizing it. Anakin must work at it.

Oh, how I dread the trip. Normally I would be glad to return home, but not this time. Anakin and I will be traveling as refugees, which means cramped quarters with two small beds, a shared shower, and no privacy whatsoever. Force grant me the power and patience to get through this. I will need every ounce of my strength.

Shirts, shoes, dresses, undergarments, hairpieces. They littered the midsize bedroom, finding a place on every surface. They spilled out of drawers and out of the two large suitcases on the bed. They were tripped over and tossed aside and selected and rejected.

They were reminders of what Padmé did not want to face.

There were so many things she wanted to avoid, and yet every ounce of her insisted she would gain nothing by leaving Coruscant. Protection, perhaps, but what good was protection when you could not fight for what you believed in? What good was being safe when it would brand you a coward? Why had she come to the capital when she had achieved nothing and paid for her trip with her friend’s innocent blood?

She didn’t, she couldn’t, know.

Sighing, Padmé straightened up and massaged the crick in her back. The time had come for something she’d been putting off.

She went to Anakin and Jar-Jar, who had been watching her and Dormé pack, and addressed the gangling Gungan.

“I’m taking an extended leave of absence,” Padmé told Jar-Jar gravely, hoping in some way to transfer a bit of her seriousness to him. “It will be your responsibility to take my place in the Senate. Representative Binks, I know I can count on you.”

Jar-Jar cleared his throat and stood a bit straighter. “Mesa honoured to be taking on thisa heavy burden,” he began formally. “Mesa accept this with muy … muy humility and, ah –”

“Jar-Jar, I don’t wish to hold you up,” Padmé interrupted, using the polite method she had been taught. “I’m sure you have a great deal to do.”

“Of course, m’lady,” the Gungan replied, bowing low and turning to exit.

That menial errand complete, Padmé could do nothing but turn back to her packing. At least this time she had no need to conceal her true feelings about the trip. “I do not like this idea of hiding,” she told Anakin bitterly, stuffing a shirt roughly into her suitcase as though it, too, had angered her.

“Don’t worry,” Anakin said, attempting an aura of calm. “Now that the Council has ordered an investigation, it won’t take Master Obi-Wan long to find out who hired that bounty hunter. I believe we should have done that from the beginning,” he added pompously. “It is better to take the offensive against such a threat, to find the source rather than try to react to the situation.”

“And while your Master investigates, I have to hide away,” she grumbled.

Anakin nodded. “That would be most prudent, yes.”

“I haven’t worked for a year to defeat the Military Creation Act not to be here when its fate is decided!” Padmé snapped. She was in no mood to be lectured by this … adolescent, this boy who had only recently become a man. Who did Anakin think he was, really? He was not a politician, he could not possibly understand how much hard work was shortly to be wasted.

Obi-Wan would not lecture, said a small voice in the back of her mind.

“Well, sometimes we have to let go of our pride and do what is requested of us,” Anakin offered.

It was decidedly the wrong thing to say. “Pride!” Padmé exploded. “Ani, you’re young, and you don’t have a very firm grasp on politics. I suggest you reserve your opinions for some other time!”

Dear, dear. Did Anakin learn nothing about manners from Obi-Wan? asked the little voice.

Anakin, as was his custom when confronted with an unexpectedly negative reaction from her, tried again to backpedal. “Sorry, m’lady, I was only trying to –”

“Ani! No!” Padmé was having none of it. Perhaps Obi-Wan’s teachings had failed, but someone had to knock some humility into Anakin. If she was the one to do it, so be it.

“Please don’t call me that,” was his surprising response.

Padmé blinked. “What?”

“Ani. Please don’t call me Ani.”

She paused in her packing, very much wrong-footed. “I’ve always called you that. It is your name, isn’t it?”

“My name is Anakin,” he said softly, never taking his eyes off her. “When you say Ani, it’s like I’m still a little boy. And I’m not.”

Padmé turned, letting her eyes drift up and down his tall frame. A man in body, perhaps, but not in mind, she thought. He acts as though he’s so world-weary and wise, but is he, really? Obi-Wan is probably much moreso, though I know he would never admit it. He’s far too modest. Which is another quality Anakin could use.

For the third time since the previous day, she realized she was thinking about Obi-Wan. What was going on? Was she just pleased to see him again, or … was something else going on?

No, Padmé told herself sternly. You CANNOT keep thinking this way! Obi-Wan is a Jedi! And Jedi or no, you do not have time to fall in love. There is too much at stake for you to be worrying about your personal life.

Once more she forced her thoughts back to Anakin, who was expectantly awaiting an answer. “I’m sorry, Anakin. It’s impossible to deny you’ve … that you’ve grown up.”

For the barest of an instant, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. Like desire, or longing. Longing to cross some invisible barrier that could nonetheless not be crossed. Is it possible that he could be having some of the same thoughts as me? But … about me? Padmé shuddered involuntarily at the thought. If Obi-Wan was off-limits, Anakin was just as much if not more.

But a moment later, the feeling had passed. “Master Obi-Wan manages not to see it,” said Anakin gloomily. “He criticizes my every move, as if I were still a child. He didn’t listen to me when I insisted that we go in search of the source of the assassination.”

Padmé took two dresses from her closet and tucked them neatly into her suitcase. “Our mentors have a way of seeing more of our faults than we would like,” she acknowledged. “It’s the only way we grow.”

Anakin seemed to be barely paying attention as he walked to the window and lifted an ornament into the air with a small prod of the Force. “Don’t get me wrong, Obi-Wan is a great mentor – as wise as Master Yoda and as powerful as Master Windu,” he murmured. “Only, although I’m a Padawan learner, in some ways – in a lot of ways – I’m ahead of him. I’m ready for the trials! I know I am! He knows it, too, but he feels I’m too unpredictable. Other Jedi my age have gone through the trials and made it. I know I started my training late, but he won’t let me move on!”

She bit her lip, barely restraining the lecture about maturity she longed to throw at him. Anakin might pretend to be mature, but the reality was something entirely different. It was interesting to get a view of how Anakin’s training had gone for him. She just wished he would be a little more appreciative of Obi-Wan. His Master deserved better.

Out loud, Padmé said, “That must be frustrating.”

“It’s worse!” Anakin blurted, his voice taking on a distinct whiny tone as he continued. “He’s overly critical! He never listens! He just doesn’t understand! It’s not fair!”

Padmé could no longer restrain the laughter that burst from her lips. Nor could she stop herself from replying, “I’m sorry. It’s just, you sounded exactly like that little boy I once knew, when he didn’t get his way.”

“I’m not whining!” Anakin exclaimed, appearing to sense her thoughts. “I’m not!”

The sight of him, standing there looking so indignant, softened her a little. Perhaps she wasn’t giving Anakin enough credit. She knew Obi-Wan could be critical, and harsh, and distant, and difficult to get along with. And really, Obi-Wan and Anakin were so different. Their personalities, their ways of looking at the world, the manner in which they associated with others. She could imagine that their personalities had clashed many times.

“I didn’t say it to hurt you,” Padmé told him.

Anakin gave a loud sigh, seeming to release all the tension that had built up in the past few moments. “I know.”

For a moment, the child was back. She could see it in him, the way his blue eyes slid to the floor, the way the corners of his mouth turned down in a pout, the way he shuddered and turned his head as though looking for some source of comfort that wasn’t going to arrive. He still misses his mother, just as much as he did when I comforted him on my starship ten years ago, she thought. And somehow, her feet began to carry her across the room, towards him, and her hand lifted to lightly touch his cheek.

“Anakin, don’t try to grow up too fast,” said Padmé quietly.

The fire blazed in his eyes again, the passionate fire that was never far away. “I am grown up. You said it yourself.”

Anakin looked at her, those blue eyes fixing directly onto hers. Padmé had a sudden sense that he was regarding her not only as an old friend, but also as a woman, a sensual and sexual being. He was relishing a fantasy, and it was much the same sort of fantasy she had slipped into the previous night about Obi-Wan. He was scanning her soul, and if she were not careful, he would find all her secrets, he would unlock that box where she kept the thoughts she wished to share with no one else … her disgust at having to leave the capital … her caring feelings for him, perhaps more than they should be … her more developed romantic feelings for his Master …

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Padmé choked out, averting her gaze.

“Why not?” Anakin blinked, seeming to come out of a trance.

Somehow, away from those eyes, she was able to recover a modicum of calm. “It makes me feel uncomfortable,” she said shortly, turning back to her suitcase.

“Sorry, m’lady.” And he was instantly the professional again, stepping back with the detachment and decorum befitting a security guard.

Another woman might have been sorry. But Padmé was not.

***

She felt in her pocket for the flimsiplast. Was it still there? Was it secured just as she had made sure back in her apartment? Yes: yes, there it was. She could feel it now, rolled up, waiting. Waiting not for Anakin, but for Obi-Wan.

“I need to say something to an old friend,” she’d told Dormé back at the apartment, after changing into her Thousand Moons refugee dress. “Well … several things, actually, and I’m afraid if I don’t say them now, I might not get the opportunity again.”

Padmé wasn’t sure why she thought that. She knew only that there was an urgency to her letter. It could not wait, nor was it something that would be written and then put into storage. She needed to write these things and have Obi-Wan read them. Perhaps that would ease some of the tension in her soul.

She did not glance at him during the ride to the dock, where a transport would take her away from Coruscant against her will. She did not speak to Anakin either, staring straight ahead in silent contemplation. Padmé could do nothing else. Now that a part of her was naked, vulnerable, exposed on the flimsiplast, she had retreated into herself for protection. It was the only way her mind could deal with the possible ramifications of her actions.

The airtaxi pulled up at the docks and its occupants rose, grabbing bags and hand luggage before lingering at the exit for the formal goodbyes.

“Be safe, m’lady,” said Captain Typho nervously. It was clear he wished he was going along.

“Thank you, Captain,” Padmé answered, her mind not really on the situation. She was thinking of how she might get Obi-Wan on his own to give him the letter. “Take good care of Dormé. The threat’s on you two now.”

Dormé grinned. “He’ll be safe with me.”

Padmé attempted a smile, but could not quite complete the simple action. She was leaving so much – her work, her staff, even Obi-Wan – and for what reason? Because the Chancellor and the rest of the Loyalist Committee are worrywarts, and don’t understand how important this is to me, she thought. Even moreso than life itself. Unexpectedly, Dormé hurried forwards and embraced her.

“You’ll be fine,” Padmé whispered.

“It’s not me, m’lady,” Dormé said, two tears slipping down her cheeks. “I worry about you. What if they realize you’ve left the capital?”

“Then my Jedi protector will have to prove how good he is,” was the best Padmé could offer. But it was apparently enough, for Dormé stepped back beside Typho and swiped at her eyes.

Padmé waited for Obi-Wan to finish giving Anakin instructions – standard fare about staying on Naboo and not taking any action without consulting the Jedi Council – and then stepped up next to him. “Excuse me, Obi-Wan, may I speak with you a moment? Privately?”

He looked puzzled, but agreeably walked to one side of the airtaxi and waited, facing her. She could see Anakin watching them with a curious expression, but she resolved to ignore it.

Looking into those deep blue eyes, that handsome face, words suddenly failed Padmé. She swallowed once, twice, then took a breath. Why does his gaze have to be so disarming? “Obi-Wan, I … I want to thank you for coming to me last night,” she finally began. “You didn’t have to do it, and yet you did, and – I really don’t know what to say, except … I needed it. I needed someone who could comfort me. Who understands what it’s like to grieve. I needed, well, a friend. So I just wanted to say thanks.”

“Padmé, you needn’t mention it,” Obi-Wan said kindly. “You’re my friend, and I lo – well, really do care about you,” he seemed to quickly correct himself. “It was my pleasure. I promise you.”

Did he really almost say “love”? Padmé wondered. It had certainly sounded like that. And somehow, it gave her courage to continue. “I’m very sorry that we haven’t had much contact with each other over the past two years. You’re one of my dearest friends, and I don’t want us to fall out of touch. Promise – promise me we won’t go another two years without speaking?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Of course. I’ve missed you, Padmé.”

She found herself blushing. Oh, curses, why must I go red NOW? “And I you,” she managed. “Since we haven’t corresponded in a few years, I – I wrote you a letter.” She pulled the flimsiplast from her pocket and clumsily thrust it at him. “Just to say some of the things I feel I can’t say to you out loud. You don’t even have to read it, I just wanted to … give it to you. Some things shouldn’t go unsaid.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, accepting the flimsiplast. “And Padmé, if you feel you need to talk to someone, on Naboo, please don’t hesitate to contact me. Anakin will have a comlink with a signal scrambler, so you will not be put in danger should you choose to use it.”

Padmé wasn’t sure precisely why she hugged him then. She knew only that suddenly she was moving forwards, her arms were opening, his were receiving her, and they were squeezing each other tightly. Padmé breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of his robes and the cologne and soap he had used that morning. “Take care, Obi-Wan,” she whispered.

“Be safe, Padmé,” he murmured into her hair.

They seemed to linger there for an eternity, wrapped around each other, taking each other in. Padmé didn’t want to let go, she felt safe in those arms, secure and happy. Oh, why couldn’t Obi-Wan accompany her to Naboo instead of Anakin? Why did the Jedi Council have to –

“Ahem.”

It was small, and it was insignificant, just Anakin clearing his throat, but it was enough to make the moment pass. Obi-Wan released her, and their gazes locked for an instant before she turned away, picked up her bags, and walked with Anakin towards the transport in the distance.

No one saw Obi-Wan slip the rolled flimsiplast into his pocket. And they certainly did not see the jealousy that flickered in Anakin’s eyes, for the barest of moments, before dissipating.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Silence Explained

Dear Obi-Wan,  
I am glad that after two years we are finally able to resume contact with one another. It’s very difficult when old friends fall out of touch. I suppose I should be used to this by now, given my line of work – politicians do not have many real friends; most are either hangers-on or campaign contributors – but somehow, I’m not. Your friendship has been a constant, a comforting constant, ever since Naboo.

The perfume she used that morning was still on the letter. Obi-Wan raised the flimsiplast to his nose and inhaled deeply. Nubian roses, lakes, waterfalls, but most of all that indefinable scent that said Padmé. The scent that had met his nostrils ten years ago, when she had comforted him after the cremation. The scent that still lingered, vaguely, on every one of the letters she had sent him since then. Sometimes, when Anakin was in lessons or otherwise occupied, Obi-Wan would remove Padmé’s letters from the locked drawer and carry them to his bed or an armchair, and reread them. It was Anakin catching him at this one day that led him to declare that Obi-Wan and Padmé must be writing love letters to one another.

They always wrote on flimsiplast. Of course, there were many other forms of communication available to them, many more technological and instantaneous. But it was dangerous for a Senator and a Jedi to be perceived as anything but distant friends, and frequent communications over comlink and holoweb would only have encouraged idle gossip. So Padmé would write, on her official Senatorial stationery, to Obi-Wan using blue ink. He would take the parchment provided to Jedi and a writing stick, and scribble a note back. Letters were carried on the huge transports that snaked through the space lanes, such that a missive often took several weeks to arrive. But Obi-Wan didn’t mind. Anticipating a letter to arrive from Padmé was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself.

I cannot possibly describe to you in words how much I appreciate your arriving at my room last night to offer support. It’s a strange thing, but unless you have seen a person grieve, you often cannot bear to grieve in front of them. This was the case for me yesterday. I’m always surrounded by people, and many of them were queuing up to offer assistance after the explosion. But somehow, I couldn’t confess my true thoughts and feelings to anyone except you. Not even Anakin, and I’ve known him almost as long. Not my handmaidens, who are well-intentioned but whom I seldom like to burden with my problems. Certainly not Captain Typho. He is very kind, and he has my best interests at heart, but he is a security officer, and thinks with such a mind.

Two years ago, however, the letters had mysteriously stopped. Before he read Padmé’s latest letter, the one she had given to him in the airtaxi, Obi-Wan was not sure why. At first he had believed it to be a problem with delivery – perhaps the letters were getting lost or were not being redirected to where they needed to go. But whenever this had happened in the past, Padmé’s letters had eventually found their way to him. This time, there was nothing. And so, after a month of waiting, he was forced to conclude that no more would be sent. He wrote a few letters himself, addressed them to her and sent them off. But he might as well have been writing to a ghost, for all the response he received.

For many days after realizing he wouldn’t be getting another letter from Padmé, Obi-Wan sank within himself. He did not eat. He could not sleep. He performed his regular duties and responsibilities in a robot-like state, with little real interaction with the outside world. Many on the Jedi Council grew concerned about him. They believed he was slipping into a depression. Even Anakin could not penetrate the walls Obi-Wan built up around himself. The Council ordered that he meet regularly with the Healers in the medical ward, but even they could not discover a reason for his sudden withdrawal. Not a physical reason, at any rate. Obi-Wan was grieving the loss of a cherished friendship, but he eventually came to realize that he was also grieving the loss of love.

Part of my reason in writing this to you was to thank you for helping me last night. That being done, I suppose I must now move on to that which I have difficulty discussing, even more difficulty than I did my grief. I want to explain to you why my letters stopped two years ago. I’m sure that hurt you very much. Don’t even try to deny it, Obi-Wan. I know the way you think. How? Because I had the precise same thoughts, and I still do.

Put simply, I was forced to stop. It was not my wish to do so, for you were and always will be my best friend. The trouble was that, as we wrote each other through these past ten years, I slowly realized that my feelings of friendship were deepening into something more. Something like love. This wasn’t logical, since I had other men lusting after me back on Naboo. One of them even asked for my hand in marriage. But I could not accept, because somehow I had it in my head that you would be disappointed, and that it would wound you deeply. I realize this to be a ridiculous notion, since we never talked of such things in our letters, but nevertheless, it’s the truth.

Somehow my mother and father got wind of my newfound feelings – I suspect an ex-friend of mine of telling them, after I had confessed to her – and they were very angry. They brought up the obvious point that you are a Jedi, and I a Senator, and therefore a potential match between us would be utterly impossible. I KNEW this, Obi-Wan. I know of the Jedi Code, of course, and of its restrictions on attachment and romantic love. I promise you that I had tried as hard as I could to suppress these feelings. It just wasn’t working. Informed of all this, my parents decided they needed to try more drastic measures. They sent me to a special doctor on Naboo, a doctor who made claims that she cured “the mind, rather than the physical body,” and could therefore rid her patients of inappropriate attraction.

I know what you must be thinking. Why did I not defy my parents, refuse to go to this “doctor,” and carry on with my life? I was, after all, past the legal age of adulthood by that time. The trouble is, you don’t realize what a big influence family has in Nubian society. Even after children leave the family home and begin to construct their own lives, they are still subject to the whims and desires of their parents. So my parents continued to direct my life, albeit from a distance. And they insisted, of course, upon my seeing this “doctor.” I had no choice. She told me that the best way to cleanse myself of inappropriate attraction was to cut off all contact with the person in question. My parents backed her up, even though there isn’t any evidence to prove such a method actually works. But they seem to think that they can control who I fall in love with. They did the same when I was thirteen and in love with Ian Lago. So I suppose I should not be surprised.

Before she stopped writing to him, Obi-Wan would never have classified his feelings towards Padmé as being those of love. But, during the extra meditations the Healers recommended, the realization came to him. What he felt for her was love. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, be one with her. And the prospect terrified him. The foundation of the Jedi Code was based upon the principle of non-attachment. Jedi were not allowed to marry or to engage in romantic relationships. Obi-Wan supposed he could have left the Order to be with Padmé, but that scared him almost as much as his love did. All he had ever been was a Jedi, and this life was the only one he knew. He couldn’t give it up, not even for love.

So he pushed his feelings down, buried them so far below the surface and locked them away so that no one but himself could access them, not even Anakin. Especially not Anakin. For Obi-Wan was not blind to his Padawan’s increasing feelings for Padmé, even as he grappled with his own. He could not deny the light that sprang into Anakin’s eyes whenever anyone mentioned her name. When Anakin was still young, he would often ask Obi-Wan, “What do you think Padmé’s doing right now?” or “Wasn’t Naboo a beautiful place?” As he grew older, those questions tapered off, to be replaced by more mature feelings for her. Feelings that coincided with Anakin’s newfound discovery of his physical, sexual self. Many a night, Obi-Wan endured poorly-shielded arousal and a variety of intriguing sounds emanating from Anakin’s bed. It was difficult, not just due to obvious privacy issues, but due to the fact that Obi-Wan longed to engage in similar activities while thinking of Padmé.

Obi-Wan did as much as he could to suppress his love. He began to meditate several times a day instead of just one or two, practicing and honing the art of releasing inappropriate feelings into the Force. He locked Padmé’s letters away in a drawer, and took them out to look at them only once a month. He paid more attention to Anakin, went on more missions, became more involved in the mundane, day-to-day work of the Temple. Those on the Jedi Council applauded him for his ability to rebound after such a difficult period, and held him up as an example to others of the dedicated, practiced Jedi. But Obi-Wan knew that however much he attempted to suppress his feelings for Padmé, however much arousal he released into the Force, however strictly he stuck to his meditation schedule, those feelings would always lurk just beneath the surface. He could never rid himself of them entirely; he could only see to it that they did not take control of him.

I was no longer allowed to write to you. If I tried – and I did, many times – my parents or someone else would invariably intercept the letter, and prevent it from reaching its desired destination. I wish I’d had the courage to stand up to them. But I was still young, Obi-Wan, and the depth and impropriety of my own feelings frightened me. Sometimes, when something frightens you, you can do nothing but attempt to let it go. And so I did. I’m sure the Jedi would have been proud of me. Outwardly, I appeared the very image of the dedicated, dutiful Senator. I enjoyed my work, and I still do. There are few pursuits more fulfilling in this life than that of assisting others. You, as a Jedi, will doubtless be able to relate to this. I never spoke of you around my family again, and so naturally I’m sure they assumed the “doctor” had worked and I had let go of my attraction.

And that brings me to the truth of all this. Being around you again has reawakened that attraction. It has lain dormant for many years – dormant, but not extinct. When you came to comfort me last night, I understand that you were likely only coming out of friendship. I will also understand if you do not share my feelings; in fact, I will not be at all surprised. But I needed to tell you that my love for you has not gone away, will likely never go away. I have tried my utmost to make it depart, and it will not. Of course, I won’t interfere with your career as a Jedi, any more than I would expect you to interfere with mine as a Senator. I understand that we are, by the very nature of what we do, incompatible.

So I will love you from a distance. And perhaps, in time, I will find another man whom I am able to love as deeply as I love you. I doubt this, but none of us knows what the future holds, right? Regardless of whether I do, regardless of whether I eventually marry or have children or where my life path should lead me, I want you to know that I will always love you. Should you ever doubt that anyone cares for you, should you ever think that I don’t wish you to be my friend, should you ever feel lonely or despairing, I want you to remember these words. I want you to remember that at this time, there existed someone who loved you. Who will always love you, and who will carry that love with her.

Yours,  
Padmé

Never had Obi-Wan’s hidden feelings blazed as they did now. Never had he felt so disconnected from his surroundings, so involved in words scribbled on a simple piece of flimsiplast. The speeder he sat in was pulled over to the side of the air traffic lane, and around him, traffic buzzed incessantly. But his mind was so distant that all the activity might as well have been occurring in another galaxy.

The letter represented vindication. Padmé loved him! How that simple phrase alone could excite him. But there was more, there was the explanation provided, and he believed it, he believed every word of it. There was pain in the letter, too – clearly it had cost Padmé a great deal to go along with her parents’ wishes and hide her attraction for those years. His heart ached for her, he longed to embrace her and kiss her and tell her that it would be all right, that he loved her too, that he could understand perfectly what it was to be required to bury one’s feelings. But she wasn’t on Coruscant; instead, she was on a transport speeding towards Naboo with Anakin.

Obi-Wan’s eyes glanced across the head of the flimsiplast. It, like every other letter she had written him, was penned on her official stationery. FROM THE DESK OF PADME AMIDALA was printed across the top, and there was a small holopicture of her, regal in bearing with a very formal gaze fixed upon the reader. Him.

Obi-Wan imagined she was there with him. Sitting next to him, watching him, with that gentle smile she so often wore. And finally, he could stand it no longer. His hand ventured downwards, and it found the drawstring closing his pants, and it untied that drawstring. With a moan of longing, he gave in to the urge that had plagued him for two years. He fixed his eyes upon the holopic of Padmé, and he began to stroke himself.

“Your friendship has been a constant …” She was sitting there, reaching over, kissing him, he could not tell where his lips ended and hers began … “The trouble was that, as we wrote each other through these past ten years, I slowly realized that my feelings of friendship were deepening into something more. Something like love …” … she bent down, kissing his chest, her tongue pausing to swirl lightly around his nipples and dip into his belly button … “Being around you again has reawakened that attraction …” … she had reached his cock, she was kissing him fiercely, he was moaning with pleasure … “… I want you to know that I will always love you. Should you ever doubt that anyone cares for you, should you ever think that I don’t wish you to be my friend, should you ever feel lonely or despairing, I want you to remember these words …” … he, she, they were going faster, he could feel his release building inside of him, he gazed directly into her eyes … “I want you to remember that at this time, there existed someone who loved you. Who will always love you, and who will carry that love with her.”

And Obi-Wan climaxed, gasping her name with a desperate sigh, and in that instant, the illusion was gone. He was panting, his lap and the seat underneath him were wet, the flimsiplast was shaking in his hands … but he felt exhilarated, excited, alive. For the first time in a long while, Obi-Wan was at peace. The sort of peace he had not experienced since Qui-Gon’s death. Blinking slowly, he read the letter once more, wet his lips, then tugged his pants upwards.

He had a duty to perform. He needed to discover who wanted Padmé dead. And Obi-Wan Kenobi would do that duty, to the best of his abilities. He would do it, though, with the added knowledge that his feelings for her were mutual. In the days and weeks ahead, he would carry the flimsiplast in his pocket, taking it out and examining it whenever he had the chance. Soon, he would commit the words written there to memory.

The letter was Padmé. He was closer to her now, and that closeness was something he could not regret.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

A Web of Secrets

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
I can’t feel angry anymore. I certainly want to, but I can’t. All the fight has gone out of me, and much as I try to muster an annoyed glance, much as I try to conjure up a tirade about how I don’t wish to leave the capital, somehow I find myself unable to. I’ve discovered a strange kind of inner peace, almost as though a warm, calming blanket has been wrapped around me.

At first I thought it had something to do with going home, and the happiness that always results from that, for me. But then I realized that although that’s certainly part of it, it doesn’t account for everything. I feel … as though a great weight has suddenly been lifted from my shoulders. Like there is some part of my brain that was previously filled with worry and a barely-disguised nervousness has been emptied, and can now be refilled with other concerns. I’m smiling more, laughing more, joking more. To me the change is quite remarkable, though I’m not sure if others have noticed yet.

I do hope Obi-Wan reads my letter. I told him that he didn’t need to if he didn’t want to, but I want his curiosity to get the better of him. I’ve been wanting to say so much of what I said in that letter for years, but of course there was no way I could without coming into direct contact with him. My parents and handmaidens took care of that. Likely the only reason I was able to sit down and write it, and then deliver it, is because Dormé was hired about a year ago and knows nothing of my past restrictions. Captain Typho does, but I asked Dormé to speak with him and assure him that the letter was only friendly and contained nothing questionable. Dishonest, perhaps, but I needed to write that letter. Sometimes, one should not wait to say certain things.

And then, when we hugged … I could have stayed in Obi-Wan’s arms forever. I’m sure that chronologically speaking the hug only lasted a moment, but it felt so much longer and shorter at the same time. He is so warm, and safe, and comforting. Yes, perhaps I shouldn’t have done it, and my parents will be upset should they find out, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Obi-Wan didn’t resist me, didn’t pull away – both actions he could have taken if I alarmed him. Does that mean something? Or does he just think I’m still grieving for Cordé, and is trying to be a good friend? I AM still grieving for Cordé, certainly, but I didn’t hug Obi-Wan because of that. I hugged him because … because it seemed like the right thing to do, and because I suddenly had an overwhelming desire to feel his arms around me. I can’t explain it; it was like some invisible hand pushing us towards each other. Perhaps it was the Force. I’m not sure. But it was right. I can feel it.

Oh, listen to me, babbling on as though I’m a schoolgirl with a crush. I really am being quite ridiculous about this whole thing. There’s nothing at all to be gained by idle speculation, particularly on this subject. I should just leave it alone, and let matters fall where they might.

We entered hyperspace awhile ago, this wretched transport creaking and rattling all the while. Anakin and I are seated in the central gathering room, using a couple of crates as chairs and a larger box as a table between us. He made a cursory security check, found no threats, sat down and promptly fell asleep. I can’t really blame him, though, he and Obi-Wan can’t have had much sleep after the second assassination attempt last night. I could talk to R2D2, I suppose, but there isn’t really much fun in conversing with a droid. Not that I need to talk to anyone, of course. I have plenty of small tasks to occupy my time after I finish this entry in my personal record.

I can’t think of much else to say at the moment, and it is nearly time for lunch, so I think I will end off now.

He was still such a child when he slept. His lips puckered slightly, soft murmurs escaped his lips, his eyes moved rapidly under his eyelids. Anakin twisted on the spot, hands trembling and grasping as though for something invisible. Padmé remembered coming upon him in a similar pose when she was fourteen, when she had come to wake him on the morning of the podrace. He told her then that he’d been dreaming of her, that she had been leading a huge army into battle. Padmé had dismissed it as the overactive imagination of a child, unable to foresee that she would indeed soon be leading an army into battle – her people, and the Gungans, to take back Naboo from the Trade Federation.

Padmé smiled at the thought, watching him now. He had grown so much physically, but mentally he was still very much a child who needed to be cared for. Sadly, he didn’t seem to get along all that well with Obi-Wan, who should have been like a father to him but seemed more like a rival to her outsider’s glance. If only someone could fill that parental void for Anakin, if only the Jedi could have allowed him to contact his mother, if only the Code were more flexible on such matters … so many if only’s.

She was interrupted in her thoughts by R2D2’s expectant beep. Padmé looked over to see him holding two bowls of mush and two pieces of bread for their meager lunch. Suppressing a small sigh, she said, “Thank you, Artoo,” and reached over to prod Anakin awake.

“No, Mom, no!” he blurted, a sudden shiver coursing through him. Beneath the table, his feet scuffed the floor as though he was running from something.

“Anakin!” Padmé said more sharply, shaking his shoulder lightly.

His eyes flicked open, and he stared around in confusion. “What?”

She took a bite of the bread Artoo handed her; it was stale and hard, but edible. “You seemed to be having a nightmare.”

Anakin didn’t respond, choosing to rub the sleep from his eyes and squint vaguely towards her. Padmé took one of the bowls of mush and pushed it across the table. “Are you hungry? It’s about lunchtime now. We went to hyperspace awhile ago.”

He blinked, seeming to realize that it would be impolite to look at her any longer, and started in on his mush. “Was I asleep long?”

“You had a good nap,” Padmé told him with a reassuring smile.

They ate in silence for a few moments before Anakin spoke again. “I’ve thought about Naboo every day since I left,” he said, as though continuing a conversation they had already started. “It’s by far the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

“It may not be as you remember it,” she replied gently. “Time changes perception.” Does it ever. Especially when it comes to matters of friendship, and love.

“Sometimes it does,” Anakin said, lifting his gaze to her once more. “Sometimes for the better.”

Padmé swallowed hard. There it was again, that intense, fiery look he seemed to reserve especially for her. How could she make him understand that her heart lay elsewhere, that what he was suggesting could never be? Not only for the evident reason, that she was a Senator and he a Jedi, but because of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, and her feelings for him, complicated everything. Her love made it impossible for her to look at another man without judging him against Obi-Wan, and their years of separation had done nothing to discourage this. But he too was a Jedi, and as unattainable as Anakin if not more …

“It must be difficult having sworn your life to the Jedi,” Padmé said suddenly. “Not being able to visit the places you like, or do the things you like.”

Anakin turned it immediately back on her. “Or be with the people that I love.”

“Are you allowed to love?” she blurted. “I thought that was forbidden for a Jedi.”

“Attachment is forbidden,” Anakin recited, “possession is forbidden. Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi’s life. So you might say that we are encouraged to love.”

How can he twist the teachings of the Order like that? Padmé wondered. Surely that’s not how they’re meant to be interpreted. Out loud she could only shake her head and murmur, “You’ve changed so much.”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Anakin countered. “You’re exactly the way I remember you in my dreams.”

He dreams about me? She found herself involuntarily withdrawing, as though in fright. But why was she frightened? Padmé had no answer. She supposed she simply found it – strange – that even though friendship was all she shared with Anakin, he still dreamed about her. She certainly entertained no similar notions about him. Well, all right, that was a lie, she did feel affection and something that might have been love, but it was more … a desire to take care of him, to nurture him, to comfort him, to ensure he didn’t come to any harm. A parental love, as opposed to the romantic, erotic love she felt for Obi-Wan.

Padmé blushed at that last thought, and quickly turned her attention back to her food.

“Padmé? Can I ask you something?” said Anakin hesitantly.

“Of course, what is it?”

“Well – when we were leaving Coruscant, at the docks, you gave Obi-Wan a letter, and then – then you hugged him,” Anakin blurted in a rush. “Is, well, you know, something going on? I don’t want to pry, and it’s obviously not my place to ask such questions, but … I couldn’t help but notice,” he finished lamely.

Padmé’s flush deepened, and she found herself unable to look him in the eye. “Ani – Anakin – that’s a very personal question,” she managed.

“Is it? I didn’t realize your relationship was quite that serious.” He seemed bolder now, braver.

“It’s not!” Padmé burst out. A little too quickly, she realized. “Well, it is. But it’s a friendship, Anakin. Any friendship is going to be personal. We hadn’t seen each other for a long time, and we’re glad to be getting reacquainted. That’s all.”

“Why did you stop writing to him?”

Padmé’s eyebrows rose nearly into her hair. “Excuse me?”

“You stopped writing to Obi-Wan two years ago, and it nearly made him have a breakdown,” Anakin explained. “The Council was really worried about him, they sent him to a Healer and made him meditate extra and eventually he came out of it, but for awhile there … we weren’t sure. He wouldn’t even talk to me. So I just wondered – even if it isn’t my place to ask, which I know it isn’t – why you stopped writing to him.”

There was an uncomfortable pause.

“Anakin, I – I can’t talk about that with you. I’m sorry,” Padmé said finally. “It’s something very private, I was young and stupid, and I did things that only those who are young and stupid do. I’m sure you’ve done things in your life that you regret. This was no different. I’m not proud of the fact that I stopped writing to him. But at that time … I had no other choice.” She sighed bitterly. “I wanted to explain to Obi-Wan why I stopped writing to him. That’s what I did in the letter. The rest, I’m afraid, is between him and me, and I beg you not to ask me to discuss it.”

“Of course,” Anakin said, the formality in her tone prompting him to develop the same amount of distance.

Padmé sighed as she returned to her mush. Just as I let go of one secret, another takes its place, she thought. My life is a web of secrets.

***

The marble columns and statues were just as she remembered them. Tall and beautiful, they stood watch over the courtyard outside the palace. Here and there, an old patch shaped like a blaster scorch served as a reminder that this place, peaceful as it seemed, had nonetheless seen war. Everything was the same – the doors, the marbled hallways, the way the palace workers greeted her with smiles and inquiries after her well-being, the soft voice of the handmaiden telling her to wait outside the throne room a moment for Queen Jamillia to be ready.

But for Padmé, everything had changed.

She felt vulnerable and exposed, much as she had done on the transport to the docks at Coruscant. She was remembering something her mother had said, just after her sister Sola had announced her engagement to Darred, a man she had met at the park two years previous. “When a woman is in love, everyone can see it,” Jobal had told Padmé. “She holds herself differently, she is more cheerful, there’s a certain sparkle in her eyes. She talks only of happy things. I’m not at all surprised your sister is to marry; I have known it for months. Even before she did.”

Padmé hoped love was not really that evident. But perhaps it was. She remembered being happier and more cheerful after she realized what she felt for Obi-Wan. Had that been how her mother found out? Maybe it wasn’t as she had previously suspected, that a jealous friend had gone running to her parents in order to hurt her. Maybe her mother had just … seen it, the way she did with Sola. And if that was the case –

“M’lady?” Sio Bibble had appeared in the hallway where they waited outside the throne room. “Such a pleasure to see you again, we were very concerned after hearing of the attempts on your life.”

Padmé shook his proffered hand. “Thankfully I find myself in good health at the present time,” she assured him, wishing she knew how to ease the blush from her cheeks. “I bring news from the capital that I believe will interest Her Highness.”

“Yes, yes, very well, please enter,” Bibble said, stepping aside to allow her and Anakin access. They bowed to Queen Jamillia, who acknowledged them with a curt nod and waved them to some empty chairs to the right of the throne.

Padmé sank down onto her seat, grateful to be focusing on protocol for the moment. At least this was one area where she could feel completely comfortable and sure of herself. Emotions did not, could not, touch Padmé Amidala in the political arena. She had learned long ago never to let them interfere.

“We’ve been worried about you, Padmé,” Queen Jamillia started, echoing Sio Bibble’s earlier statements. “When the reports from the capital reached us, we feared the worst.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Padmé replied. “I only wish I could have served you better by staying on Coruscant for the vote.”

“Supreme Chancellor Palpatine explained it all,” Bibble assured her. “Returning home was the only real choice you could have made.”

Padmé nodded. Outwardly, her face remained blank and impassive, but she knew that political arena or not, it would be a long while before she could look upon her forced departure with anything but frustration and regret.

“How many systems have joined Count Dooku and the Separatists?” asked the Queen. She usually preferred to get straight to the point of any discussion.

“Thousands,” said Padmé. “And more are leaving the Republic every day. If the Senate votes to create an army I’m sure it’s going to push us into a civil war.”

“Unthinkable!” Bibble exclaimed. “There hasn’t been a full-scale war since the formation of the Republic!”

Jamillia looked thoughtful. “Do you see any way, through negotiations, to bring the Separatists back into the Republic?”

“Not if they feel threatened,” Padmé replied. “The Separatists don’t have an army, but if they are provoked, they will move to defend themselves. I’m sure of that. And with no time or money to build an army, my guess is they’ll turn to the Commerce Guild or the Trade Federation for help.” She realized she felt complete confidence in her words, and that it showed in her tone. Intuition has always served me so well. Now why can’t I apply it to Obi-Wan and my feelings for him? And now, again, I’m thinking of him when I should be focusing on my duties. Stop it, Padmé! Concentrate!

“The armies of commerce,” Jamillia muttered, all but rolling her eyes. One would be hard-pressed to find a native Nubian with any sympathy for the Trade Federation and its ilk, after what had occurred ten years ago. Nearly everyone shared the same level of distaste. “Why has nothing been done in the Senate to restrain them?”

“I’m afraid that, despite the Chancellor’s best efforts, there are still many bureaucrats, judges and even Senators on the payrolls of the guilds,” Padmé said gently.

“Then it is true that the guilds have moved closer to the Separatists, as we suspected,” the Queen sighed.

“It’s outrageous,” said Bibble angrily, “that after all those hearings and four trials in the Supreme Court, Nute Gunray is still the Viceroy of the Trade Federation! Do those money-mongers control everything?”

“Remember, Counselor, the Courts were able to reduce the Trade Federation’s armies,” Jamillia countered. “That’s a move in the right direction.”

Padmé bit her lip, knowing it was her duty to report matters completely. “There are rumours, Your Highness, that the Federation’s army was not reduced as they were ordered,” she admitted.

“The Jedi have not been allowed to investigate,” Anakin spoke up from his position behind Padmé. “It would be too dangerous for the economy, we were told.”

Queen Jamillia rose from her throne and shook her head lightly. “We must keep our faith in the Republic,” she insisted. “The day we stop believing democracy can work is the day we lose it.”

Padmé stood with her, nodding in agreement. “Let us pray that day never comes.”

“In the meantime, we must consider your own safety,” Jamillia said, and curtly nodded towards her handmaidens and the security officers dotting the room. Without a word, they stood and left, understanding that this was a private matter that could not be discussed in their presence.

“What is your suggestion, Master Jedi?” Bibble asked.

Oh please, don’t inflate Anakin’s ego even more than it is already, Padmé thought tiredly. Quickly she said, “Oh, Anakin’s not a Jedi yet. He’s still a Padawan learner. But I was thinking –”

“Hold on a minute!” Anakin blurted, but she was not to be deterred.

“Excuse me.” Padmé directed an icy stare his way. “I was thinking I would stay in the Lake Country. There are some places up there that are very isolated.”

“Excuse me!” Anakin snapped. “I’m in charge of security here, m’lady!”

Padmé did not back down. “And this is my home. I know it very well; that is why we’re here. I think it would be wise for you to take advantage of my knowledge in this instance.” She did not bother to keep the sharpness from her voice as she spoke the words. If this mission Anakin had been given also turned out to be a lesson in humility and decorum for him, so much the better.

“Sorry, m’lady,” he murmured contritely, and she was sated, for the moment. She turned back to the Queen and her entourage.

“Perfect! It’s settled then,” Jamillia declared, then seemed to soften slightly. “Padmé, I had an audience with your father yesterday. I told him what was happening. He hopes you will visit himself and your mother before you leave. Your family’s very worried about you.”

Padmé bit her lip. She should have been able to guess this was coming. She did want to visit her family, to reassure them that she was indeed safe and to see Sola and her nieces again, but a part of her shied away from the idea of going back. Suppose they figured out she was still in love with Obi-Wan? Suppose they forced her to avoid him as they had done before? She didn’t think she could bear it this time. She was too in love, had too much desire in her since meeting him again to be stifled.

She left the palace with Anakin walking behind her, feeling very much out of control.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Family Matters

Finally, she felt as though she were coming home.

The palace had been home for a time, as had the courtyard in Theed. Even now Padmé kept an official residence there, used for entertaining fellow Senators and other dignitaries. But it didn’t matter how many friendly sculptures or which pieces of comfortable furniture she filled it with: it could never possess the true warmth of her family home, of the home where she had grown up with her parents and sister. So many memories resided in that house. Memories good and bad.

She remembered the day she’d been named to the Apprentice Legislators. Her father had picked her up and danced her around the room while her mother and Sola laughed. She remembered announcing her intentions to run in the election for ruler of Naboo after King Veruna had abdicated. Her parents’ faces had glowed with pride. Sola jokingly questioned Padmé’s ability to rule an entire planet when she couldn’t seem to keep her own room clean. And when she went home for the first time after the blockade, her mother came running out into the front garden and hugged her for a full five minutes. They both cried.

Then there had been The Fight. Padmé could not help but refer to it in capital letters, at least in her own mind. The day that her parents confronted her with the truth about her feelings for Obi-Wan. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her father so upset. “He – is – a – Jedi!” Ruwee had thundered, pacing the room while Padmé sat mutely on the couch. “Asking one of them to make a solid commitment to a relationship is like asking a sando aqua monster not to hunt colo-claw fish!”

“I’m not asking him for a commitment, nor do I plan to,” Padmé had quietly replied. “I am fully aware of the restrictions placed on the Jedi by their Code. It is possible to love someone from a distance, is it not? I see no harm in doing so.”

“But Padmé, dear, we had hoped you might consider one of the fine young men here on Naboo,” her mother then had offered. “Force knows we’ve done our best to introduce you to many eligible bachelors. Palo, and Christos, and Andrew –”

“All of whom you rejected,” Ruwee had muttered. “Darling, we only have your best interests at heart. We want you to choose someone who can not only love you, but also be your friend! Someone kind, someone gentle, someone who will respect your ambitions and your career and your life goals and most importantly, you. Your mother and I love you so very much, Padme. We don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“As far as your description of the ideal person goes, you have just characterized Obi-Wan perfectly,” Padmé had said coldly. “But I’m not even sure I want a family! My work in the Senate keeps me occupied quite nicely and I don’t think it would work all that well to juggle a husband and children along with that. Why can’t you understand that I’m grown up and should be allowed to make my own choices?”

Both her parents had gone still. “Not – not have a family?” Jobal whispered. “But Padmé – family life is the basic foundation of Naboo society! How could you not want a family? After your Senatorial term was up I always thought you would settle down, marry, have children … I can’t believe that’s changed for you!”

Ruwee was shaking his head. “I don’t like these ideas you’re getting, young lady,” he’d said. “To go against your mother and I is one thing, to go against everything this planet stands for is quite another. I won’t have it. I just won’t.”

It had been then that they shouted at one another. Padmé was outraged that her mother and father would not consider her wishes; Ruwee and Jobal, for their part, were concerned for their daughter’s welfare and what this newfound love and desire would mean. It had ended in tears, with Ruwee forbidding Padmé to write to Obi-Wan and Padmé running to her room and slamming her door. She hadn’t left that room for two days, but her parents did not relent.

Now, she wondered if they were in for a repeat of the incident that had taken place two years ago. It would be all the more difficult because of Anakin’s presence, but she was no less determined to defend her choices than she had been back then.

Anakin walked stolidly next to her, glancing all around him and trying to take everything in. It occurred to Padmé that this must be an acutely foreign environment for him – the idea of families playing unbidden and carefree in the street, with no thought of slavery or politics or war or Jedi, just childhood games and happiness. Anakin had told her often that his mother had worked very hard to create happiness for herself and her son on Tatooine, but Padmé held no delusions about how easy that would have been. Here, Anakin could see other children, children who had been given the gift of freedom before birth and had any number of options open to them. It must be so interesting for him, she thought.

They headed down a small alleyway and came out in a courtyard, dwellings of stone and wood surrounding them. “There’s my house!” Padmé cried, pointing and starting to run towards one of the larger places. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Anakin wasn’t following for some reason. “What? Don’t tell me you’re shy!” she called.

Anakin started to answer, but Padmé’s attention was diverted by two young girls running down her front steps and throwing themselves into her arms. “Aunt Padmé! Aunt Padmé!” they shrieked excitedly.

Pure joy enveloped Padmé as she squeezed her nieces tight and kissed the tops of their heads. “Ryoo, Pooja!” she cried. “I’m so happy to see you! Oh, I missed you!” She might have gone on in a similar vein for quite some time had Anakin and R2D2 not come up behind her.

Padmé released her nieces and turned them towards Anakin. “Ryoo, Pooja, this is Anakin. Anakin, this is Ryoo and Pooja.”

Both parties regarded each other cautiously, the girls seeming shy around a visitor and Anakin equally ill at ease around children. Finally Ryoo mumbled, “Um, hi,” and she and her sister hurried off to greet Artoo, with whom they were obviously much better acquainted. Padmé and Anakin chuckled as they watched the girls smother the little droid in kisses and hugs.

“Padmé! You’re here, welcome home!”

And Padmé turned again, this time to embrace her sister Sola. “Mom and Dad will be so happy to see you,” Sola said after they had parted and Padmé introduced her to Anakin (Sola’s eyes narrowed suspiciously). “It’s been a difficult few weeks.”

Padmé sighed. She could only imagine what her family must have gone through when the news of the assassination attempts reached them. It was bad enough when she had gone unexpectedly off-planet during the incident with the Trade Federation, but her parents and sister would at least have been secure in the knowledge that she was protected by a team of expert bodyguards, and that technically her life wasn’t directly threatened. This time was different. This time, someone wanted her personally. So she was sent to hide here … while Obi-Wan searched the galaxy for clues as to the identity of the assassin.

She bit her lip. It was difficult not to find overtones of chivalry in that fact, even though she knew very well he was only doing it because it was the duty assigned him.

“Mom’s making dinner,” Sola noted, jolting Padmé’s thoughts back to the present. “As usual, your timing is perfect.”

The house was as comfortable as it had always been. Plush furniture, soft colours and a throw rug scattered here and there lent an aura of home that she could never seem to create in her official residences. Perhaps “home” is more defined by the people I see and hear when I walk through the door, as opposed to the objects present, Padmé thought as she embraced her mother and father and took a seat at the dining room table. Ruwee and Padmé shared a small smile as Sola’s voice filtered in from the kitchen, continually exclaiming, “Too much, Mom!”

“I doubt they’ve been starving all the way from Coruscant!” Sola called over her shoulder as she carried in a basket of bread and a bowl filled to the brim with pasta.

“Enough to feed the town?” Padmé chuckled.

“You know Mom,” Sola muttered. To Anakin she said, “No one has ever left this house hungry.”

“Well, I think one person did once, but Mom chased him down and dragged him back in,” Padmé amended.

“To feed him or cook him?” Anakin quipped, and everyone burst out laughing just as Jobal carried another steaming tray into the dining room. This, of course, made them laugh all the harder until Jobal fixed them with an imperious stare.

“They arrived just in time for dinner,” she said, dipping a serving spoon into the pasta and doling it out onto plates. “I know what that means.” Smiling at her guest, Jobal added, “I hope you’re hungry, Anakin.”

He smiled shyly. “A little.”

Padmé laughed and reached for the bowl of pasta. “He’s being polite, Mom, we’re starved,” she said. “Food on refugee transports isn’t exactly world-class homemade fare.”

They ate in silence for several moments, staving off initial hunger pangs, before Jobal looked up and addressed her youngest daughter. “Honey, it’s so good to see you safe. We were so worried.”

Padmé sighed and stabbed a forkful of pasta. Of course they have to bring that up, she thought. Honestly.

Ruwee shot his wife a warning look and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Dear –”

“I know, I know!” Jobal sighed. “But I had to say it. Now it’s done.”

Sola took a sip of water and cleared her throat. “Well, this is exciting! Do you know, Anakin, you’re the first boyfriend my sister ever brought home?”

“Sola!” Padmé said angrily. “He isn’t my boyfriend. He’s a Jedi assigned by the Senate to protect me.”

“A bodyguard?” Jobal said worriedly. “Oh, Padmé, they didn’t tell us it was that serious!”

Padmé had to close her eyes and mentally calm herself before she replied. “It’s not, Mom. I promise. Anyway, Anakin’s a friend. I’ve known him for years. Remember that little boy who was with the Jedi during the blockade crisis?”

“Oh, the one who was apprenticed to Obi-Wan Kenobi afterwards?” Sola nodded. “Yes, I’m starting to remember now. His Master was killed liberating Naboo.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Ruwee said, and he and Jobal exchanged dark looks. “Isn’t he the man you had that crush on a few years ago?”

Padmé flushed a deep red. It did not escape her attention that Anakin’s fork had stopped all forward motion and that he was listening keenly. Oh, if he were to find out about her feelings for his Master … she didn’t think she could bear it. “Dad – Daddy – that was a long time ago,” she managed finally. She wished Anakin would look away. “Things change. People change.”

“You haven’t written him any more letters, have you?” Jobal lifted an eyebrow.

“No, of course not!” Padmé quickly exclaimed. Then, sensing Anakin about to contradict her, she amended, “Well, one. I wrote him a letter before we left Coruscant, but I had to! When I stopped writing to him a couple of years ago it really hurt him. I wanted to explain what, precisely, had made me stop.” She looked sternly at her parents.

“Honey, you shouldn’t be writing to him,” Ruwee reminded her. “It might cause a relapse.”

“A what?” said Anakin.

Padmé cut off the forthcoming explanation with a death glare across the table. “Can we please discuss this later?” she said, putting a heavy emphasis on the word later. “I don’t believe supper is quite the time.”

“Perhaps not,” Jobal allowed, but she continued to fix a suspicious eye on Padmé throughout the rest of the meal and even afterwards as she and her daughters were cleaning the dishes. Ruwee did the same before inviting Anakin out to the backyard for a walk.

The tension was palpable. They worked in silence, each left to their own tumultuous thoughts. Jobal was managing to look annoyed and nervous at the same time, as though the very thought of Padmé communicating with Obi-Wan was an affront to her sensibilities. Padmé herself was furious with her parents for reopening that old wound, and angry at herself for not taking steps to prevent it. Sola betrayed no outward emotions, smiling blandly as if she knew a secret.

“Why haven’t you told us about him?” she suddenly asked.

Padmé was momentarily startled out of her anger. “Who, Anakin? There’s nothing to tell. He’s just a boy.”

“A boy?” Sola chuckled. “Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

“Anakin and I are friends,” Padmé said in a tone that brooked no arguments. “Regardless of how he may feel about me, I don’t see him as anything other than a sweet little boy. Besides, I know now that even having a simple crush on a Jedi is not permitted in this family.” She threw an accusatory glance at her mother.

“Padmé, what we did was for your own good,” Jobal replied calmly. “Obi-Wan Kenobi is not suitable for you and you know it. And the evidence indicated that your feelings for him went well beyond a ‘simple crush.’ Better to sever the relationship at its roots, rather than allow it a chance to sprout into something dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Padmé exploded. “We were writing each other letters! What’s so dangerous about that?”

“It could easily have developed into something more!” Jobal shot back. “How do you think your father and I fell in love with each other? We wrote letters back and forth!”

“Only after you were forced into an arranged engagement,” Padmé muttered. “You wrote letters to Daddy to get to know him better before your wedding. And in the process you just happened to fall in love. Lucky for you, but that doesn’t mean every relationship will be sealed through letters. You would have done better to continue to allow me to write to Obi-Wan and sort out my feelings on my own. I know very well that the Jedi Code doesn’t allow for attachments and I was perfectly prepared to love him from a distance.”

“Padmé, how many times must I tell you? Your father and I only want what’s best for you. We don’t want to see you get hurt! We believed that after your term in politics had ended you would meet a nice man and settle down and have children, just as nearly every other Nubian has done for ages. And when that didn’t happen, we wanted to stop you from making a decision you might later regret. That’s all. There was no malicious intent whatsoever. So I wish you would stop treating your father and I as though we have a personal vendetta against you, because I assure you, we don’t.”

And with that, Jobal tossed her dishcloth onto the counter and stalked out of the kitchen.

Padmé sank down onto a kitchen chair, tears unexpectedly pricking at her eyes. Why couldn’t they just stop discussing this? Why did so many visits have to be ruined by this topic? What was so wrong with love? She had never stopped loving Obi-Wan, despite her parents’ best efforts to stamp the feelings out of her. Certainly, part of it was her attraction to him. He was a very desirable man. But another part … another part was just floating to the surface of her consciousness, just making itself known.

Her love for Obi-Wan felt like life. It made her feel alive, energized, like a beautiful, sensual person instead of the politician she almost always was. Every time he looked at her, even if it was just in an official capacity, she found herself paying more attention to her hair, her facial expressions, the way she walked and the way she carried herself. When she thought of how she loved him, the only sensation that compared was that of stepping into a cool, clear stream, breathing mountain air, being in an open field. Being free. And being absolutely, completely and implicitly herself.

“Credit for your thoughts?” Sola had taken the seat next to hers.

Padmé sighed and ran a tired hand over her face. “I don’t know, Sola. It’s all so complicated. I just wish … I just wish Mom and I, or Dad and I, didn’t have to argue about this every time I come home. It’s in the past. Why can’t we just forget it?”

“I don’t know. Is it really in the past?” Sola asked softly.

Her sister’s open and comforting tone was inviting somehow. Inviting her to say what she really felt. Padmé looked at her feet. “I used to think so. Now I’m not so sure.”

Sola nodded. “You don’t sound sure, either. And I wish there was something I could say to make it all better, but I know there’s nothing. Love is a difficult business.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Padmé said bitterly.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think Mom and Dad are being very pigheaded about this,” Sola said, causing Padmé to look up in surprise. “Yes, that’s right. I never went along with this whole business of them stopping you writing to Obi-Wan. My feeling is, if you love someone, if you deeply care for them, you should be allowed to feel that. Trying to restrict you from even falling in love … well, it’s ridiculous is what it is. To my mind, you’re old enough to make your own choices. For Force’s sake, you’ve governed a whole planet and now you’re practically in charge of the Chommell Sector. If that’s not responsibility then I don’t know what is.”

“But – but maybe Mom and Dad are right,” Padmé ventured. She didn’t really want to believe that, not at all, but her politician’s persona was as usual forcing her to examine all sides of the issue. “Maybe Obi-Wan is the wrong person for me. Maybe I should have married Andrew when he asked me.” She shifted uncomfortably.

“You don’t believe that, and I know you don’t,” Sola countered. “That’s Dad talking. I know how much in favour Mom and Dad were of that particular relationship. Of course, it was all a front to distract you from Obi-Wan. They keep saying they don’t want you to get hurt, but I think you’ve already been hurt. You’ve been hurt by them keeping you away from him.”

“When I met him again on Coruscant, it – it was like being released from a prison,” Padmé confessed, suddenly unguarded. “Suddenly I could live, somehow. And I didn’t care what anybody thought. How I acted towards him was my business. And … I don’t know, he’s very kind and gentle and he comforted me after Cordé’s death, and then when we were at the docks, he hugged me.”

A smile flitted across Sola’s face. “He hugged you?”

“Yes. I don’t know how it happened, really. I wrote him a letter before I left my apartment, just to explain why I stopped writing to him two years ago. I felt I owed him that much. So when we were at the docks, I gave it to him and suddenly we were hugging. I can’t explain it.”

“Oh, there’s an easy explanation: you love him,” said Sola simply.

“But – but he’s a Jedi!” Padmé burst out. “They’re not supposed to have attachments. They aren’t allowed to fall in love, or get married … the relationship would be doomed before it even got off the ground!”

“Anakin seems to have no such qualms about violating those restrictions,” Sola remarked. “At least, judging by the way he keeps looking at you.”

“Anakin’s not like other Jedi,” Padmé insisted. “He was inducted into the Order at a later age. Most of them live in the Temple from infancy, but we found Ani on Tatooine when he was nine. They didn’t even want to train him at first. Then after Qui-Gon’s death … well, I guess his dying wish to Obi-Wan was that Anakin be trained as a Jedi, so it happened. But Anakin’s never had the same amount of control over himself as the others do. Obi-Wan and I talked about it often in our letters.”

“And Obi-Wan himself?” Sola prompted.

“He’s the last Jedi in the galaxy who would break the Code. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, I’m not. Love can do very strange things to people. And think about it: he comforted you after Cordé died and hugged you at the Coruscant docks. Both of which imply an attachment, at least to me.”

“You don’t think that could possibly be because we’re friends, do you?” Padmé said sarcastically, but Sola cut her off.

“That’s part of it, but it’s not everything. I know you’ve acknowledged your love for him, Padme, at least in part. But there’s still a bit of you that’s in denial. Mom and Dad have gotten to you whether you like it or not, and you’re questioning yourself. You’re questioning your feelings. If I were you I would take a good hard look at that part of you inside that refuses to believe it. I’d force that part out into the open – pardon the pun – and examine it. Turn it over in your hands. Think about it objectively. And then try to look me in the eye and tell me you feel only friendship for Obi-Wan and he feels only friendship for you. I’ll bet my shoelaces you won’t be able to.”

And Sola stood, leaving Padmé in the kitchen to her very confused thoughts.

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
I’ve done as Sola suggested.

I’ve reached deep inside myself, to that place where I keep my darkest secrets. All the secrets I don’t want Mom and Dad and Anakin and even Obi-Wan to know. I had a hint of that place and the feelings I keep in that place at dinner, when I was fighting with Mom and Dad about it. But I was too angry and upset to truly think of it as I should. Now, I have. And this is what I’ve realized.

I love Obi-Wan Kenobi. I love him with everything that I am.

The phrase “I love Obi-Wan” means nothing more or less to me than the phrase “I am alive.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Boundaries Established

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
It surprises me how thankful I am to be away from my parents’ house. And then, immediately after that surprise comes guilt. I shouldn’t feel relief at leaving my own family, should I? I hardly ever see them, so I ought to take advantage of every opportunity I have to spend time with them. And, were it not for what happens every time I visit them, I would be taking advantage of and enjoying these opportunities. But my parents insist upon clinging to the past, and so I can’t.

Perhaps they cling to the past with good reason. The last entry in my personal record stands as proof of this. I won’t retract those words even if they were written in the heat of a passionate realization, because they are true. After Sola left me I finished the cleanup, bid good-night to my parents and nieces and Anakin and headed up to bed. I could tell Anakin was disappointed at not being able to accompany me to my room, but there was really no reason for him to do so. My home is perfectly secure and if any danger were to present itself, he could sense it in the Force well before it became a threat. So I saw no reason to permit him to enter my bedroom. The bedroom is a very private place, after all.

I am embarrassed to admit what I did after arriving in my room, but this is my personal record, and I ought to be truthful in it. I packed some clothes to wear at Varykino, I sent a few messages to Queen Jamillia and the Senate, I took off my clothes, I lay in bed … and I pretended Obi-Wan was with me. I pretended he was loving me, as I have dreamed about him loving me for so long now, and I pretended he was kissing me in places few men have ever seen. I’ve never been intimate with anyone before, really physically intimate. Oh, of course many have tried, but none have succeeded. Andrew was particularly tenacious. Now, he believed we were to be married right up until I rejected his proposal, so I suppose he had a reason to think I would go further with him than with anyone else. But I didn’t; I couldn’t.

The idea of sex just to please one’s partner bothers me. It always has. To me, when a person becomes intimate they should do so because they truly care about their partner, not because they know it would make their partner feel good. I’m aware that most men find me attractive; it has even been an asset at times. But the one man whom I actually want to look at me in “that way” is and always will be an enigma. I don’t know if Obi-Wan has ever been in love. Nor do I know if he would even succumb to something like love. He’s a Jedi after all, and has been indoctrinated all of his life to avoid relationships and the attachment they bring. He likely only thinks of me as a friend. And that’s how it should be, really.

But sometimes, as happened last night, I dream of him noticing me as a woman. I dream of him taking me in his arms, kissing me, desiring me. These ideas are absurd, I know – it’s a fantasy that can never occur. But does that make it any easier for me to banish those thoughts from my head? No, it doesn’t.

The last entry in my personal record was typed as I lay in bed, blissful from the aftereffects of the feelings that sweep over me when I pleasure myself. I think I’m finally able to admit, for better or worse, my feelings for Obi-Wan. Certainly I’ll never tell HIM, I just couldn’t. I’d be too afraid of him nodding gently and then launching into a lecture about the Jedi Code. Or worse, regarding me as someone to be pitied. I don’t want his pity. I want his love.

But I know it can’t happen. So I’ll have to content myself with fantasies such as last night’s. Somehow it seems easier now I’ve admitted to myself that I love him. I wonder why that is. And I hope I can survive being at Varykino with Anakin and not revealing the truth. If there’s anyone who cannot know, it’s Anakin.

It would destroy him.

“Whatcha typing?” Anakin peered over her shoulder. “Senate stuff?”

Padmé blushed deeply and closed her datapad. “No, no, just my journal,” she managed to reply. “I find sometimes that my mind gets so full of thoughts that it helps to store some of them in electronic form. So I keep a diary. I started just after I was elected Queen, and I’ve continued up until this day.”

“That takes discipline,” Anakin remarked. “It’s – well, it’s a discipline I admit I’ve never quite been able to conjure up.”

She smiled. “You don’t seem the type, no. But that’s not a bad thing. Some people just aren’t like that. Depends on your personality, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” Anakin settled back in the boat, looking completely relaxed for once. Padmé knew the feeling well; it was what she experienced whenever she was in the Lake Country. She hadn’t been there for a few years now, owing to the fact that her Senatorial duties kept her too busy for such pleasures. And although she wasn’t exactly pleased at the reason she was back, she had to admit that it had the same calming influence every time. She doubted it would help her in her present condition, but there was always hope.

It wasn’t long before the small skiff pulled up at the dock near her home. Anakin helped her to climb out, they paused for a moment to gather their bags and drop them off in their rooms, and then suddenly they were alone. Padmé would have liked to be truly alone, left in her room to think and contemplate, but she knew from Anakin’s restless demeanor that he would probably not permit this. She could understand his concerns in a way – after all, he hadn’t yet checked the premises for existing threats – but it didn’t mean she could cope easily. Anakin had been quiet and reserved all the way from her parents’ house, most unusual for him, and she thought she had a good idea of what might be on his mind. It was only a matter of time before he brought it up.

They strolled out to the balcony, the light catching the colours of Padmé’s dress and turning it from white, to yellow, to deepest pink. She wasn’t sure precisely why she had chosen it, other than that it seemed to suit the location: casual and soft, attached around her neck and leaving her back bare.

Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this dress after all, Padmé realized, shifting uncomfortably as she walked and catching Anakin gazing at her suggestively. She’d been thinking of Obi-Wan when she put it on, but after all, he wasn’t exactly here. I just wish Anakin would say something instead of staring at me like that.

She knew she needed to distract him somehow. “We used to come here for school retreat,” she blurted, wincing at the suddenness of her words. “We used to swim to that island every day. I love the water.”

They drew level with the balcony rail. Padmé gripped it desperately. Perhaps hanging onto something physical would centre her somehow, focus her attention on the present where it needed to be. The way Anakin was looking at her … she had the distinct impression that she would need all her wits about her.

“We used to lie on the sand and let the sun dry us, and try to guess the names of the birds singing,” Padmé told him.

“I don’t like sand,” Anakin informed her. “It’s coarse, and rough, and irritating … and it gets everywhere. Not like here. Here everything is soft and smooth.”

She felt a touch on her back, as gentle and fleeting as the wind tickling her skin. Perhaps it was the wind. But the feeling continued, the sensations flitting across her back and shoulder even though she could feel no wind on her face. Her shoulder, her back, her shoulder again, they were being touched by strong, supple fingers. And her head was turning, turning towards Anakin, and they were drawing towards each other, and their lips were meeting …

Padmé thought, What?

We’re KISSING now?

A moment ago we were just standing next to each other, and now – now we’re kissing?

And all the while, Anakin was deepening the kiss, bringing her closer, there were pinpricks of heat exploding all over her body, Anakin’s tongue was caressing her lips as though seeking permission to enter her mouth …

Who does he think he IS?

She broke the kiss as suddenly as Anakin had started it, pulling abruptly away to grip the balcony rail again. “No,” she said firmly, “you shouldn’t have done that.”

He at least had the decency to look chagrined. “Sorry, m’lady. When I’m around you, my mind is no longer my own.”

“Is that so?” Padmé had turned away from the balcony and was facing him without even realizing it. “Then perhaps you need to learn some control, Anakin. You can’t just go around kissing people without their permission! It’s incredibly rude!”

“Permission?” Anakin sputtered. “But – but Padmé, I was touching you before and you didn’t seem to mind it, so I thought …”

“A touch is different from a kiss and you know it,” she retorted. “Anakin, we’re friends. I don’t mind if we reconnect on a friendly level. In fact, I like it. I enjoy being with you. But what you just did crossed the line from being friendly, to being, well, quite inappropriate.”

“Padmé, please.” Anakin blinked hard. He seemed to be trying not to burst into tears.

“This isn’t something I want to discuss with you at the moment,” Padmé interrupted. “I have already told you of my feelings on the matter. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are some Senate documents requiring my attention.”

And without a further word, she crossed the balcony and strode indoors, leaving Anakin with his face crumpling.

***

Late morning found Padmé in her bedroom, reading over her messages from the Senate but not taking in a word. Her mind was elsewhere, thinking about what had happened earlier on the balcony. It wasn’t the kiss so much; she knew her exact feelings on that. Anakin was her friend, someone for whom she cared deeply. But not in a romantic sense. If anything, she still saw him as the child he had been on Tatooine. So to kiss someone she thought of as nine years old made her feel supremely uncomfortable.

She had accused him of being rude, which probably wasn’t exactly the right thing to do. She had been pretty rude herself, in the end.

Padmé sighed. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, let herself think of Obi-Wan. Not now. Her feelings for him would only serve to complicate matters further, even though she knew she would eventually have to face up to them. And tell Anakin …

A knock sounded at the door. “Um … Padmé?” Anakin’s voice sounded raw and hesitant.

I can’t wait any longer, Padmé thought. I have to apologize.

Slowly she creaked open her door. To her surprise, Anakin was holding a picnic basket.

“I thought we could go out for a picnic,” he said softly. “I – I got the kitchen staff to make this for me, but … but only if you want to. We don’t have to. Really.”

Padmé smiled. “Ani, it’s okay. You don’t have to treat me as though I’m a detonator waiting to explode. I was just a bit surprised earlier, and I overreacted. I was rude, too. I shouldn’t have said most of those things.”

He bit his lip. “Well, I was kind of being stupid too,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I know I shouldn’t have, and in any other situation, I would have controlled myself. But I couldn’t for some reason. I – I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said. “And I would love to go on a picnic with you.”

***

It was perhaps her favourite spot in the Lake Country: a grassy hill overlooking twin waterfalls, shaaks grazing peacefully nearby, and a variety of insects flitting about and pollinating brightly-coloured flowers. This was the one place besides Varykino and her parents’ house where Padmé truly felt at home and could be herself. She even blended in with the land, having changed into a long, gauzy yellow dress and a shawl and headband speckled with flowers. The picnic that the cooks had packed was delicious, and she could not remember ever feeling more content.

I wish Obi-Wan were here, said a small voice in her mind. She quickly hushed it and shook her head at Anakin’s last question. “Oh … I don’t know.”

“Sure you do, you just don’t want to tell me,” Anakin challenged.

Padmé lifted an eyebrow. “Are you going to use one of your Jedi mind tricks on me?”

“No, they only work on the weak-minded,” he assured her with a smile. She blushed a little, sensing he had just given her a backhanded compliment.

“All right,” she sighed. “I was twelve. His name was Palo, we were both in the Legislative Youth Program. He was a few years older than I. Very cute … dark curly hair, dreamy eyes …”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture,” Anakin muttered, suddenly disinterested. “Whatever happened to him?”

“I went into public service, he went on to become an artist,” Padmé replied.

“Maybe he was the smart one.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You really don’t like politicians, do you?”

“I like two or three,” Anakin said, “but I’m not really sure about one of them.”

Both chuckled lightly. Padmé bit into an apple, pleased with how the conversation seemed to be going. It was easy, sitting here and talking like this. She could be his friend, which was all she had wanted to be in the first place. And he could certainly understand more of the complexities of life than he had been able to when he was nine. They could talk, have adult discussions, be companionable towards each other.

Yes, she definitely liked this.

It’s like talking with Obi-Wan, said the little voice.

“I don’t think the system works,” Anakin was saying.

“Really?” Padmé said sarcastically. “How would you have it work?”

He chewed his lip, obviously thinking hard. “We need a system where the politicians sit down and discuss the problem, agree what’s in the best interests of all the people, and then do it,” he said finally.

“That’s exactly what we do,” she countered. “The trouble is that people don’t always agree. In fact, they hardly ever do.”

“Well, then they should be made to,” Anakin said with conviction.

Padmé gazed at him incredulously. “By whom, who’s going to make them?”

He threw his hands up, looking flummoxed. “I don’t know! But someone.”

“You?”

“Of course not me!”

“But someone.”

Anakin nodded. “Someone wise.”

I’d never be able to live like that, Padmé thought. I think I would die before choosing to live with a system of government that tells me what to think. She shook her head. “Sounds an awful lot like a dictatorship to me.”

“Well, if it works …” Anakin shrugged.

Does he really think that? He can’t possibly. Then she noticed the grin spreading over his face, and matched it with a smile of her own. “You’re making fun of me!”

“Oh, no, I’d be much too frightened to tease a Senator,” he snickered.

Padmé discovered many things about Anakin that afternoon. His sense of playfulness, which had been ever-present when he was young, still existed within him and was a sight to behold when released. His sense of humour she suspected was at least partially influenced by Obi-Wan; she could recognize the same dry wit and small smiles that would creep onto his face when she least expected it. He was fun to be with, and he loved to make her laugh. Several times she had to pause and clutch at a stitch in her belly, she was giggling so hard.

But it was only near the end of a particularly wild episode in which he tried to ride a shaak backwards, leading to it bucking him off, that she realized what he had really been doing during their supposedly innocent picnic.

Flirting.

She had missed the many sideways glances and small smiles that permeated the afternoon, but now, lying on top of him in the grass, there was no mistaking what that grin meant. Or what the bump in his trousers signified. She was blushing even before her conscious brain had made the connection, their position reminding her eerily of other situations she had been in, with other men. Men who only wanted one thing.

Padmé rolled off as quickly as she could.

And he looked confused for a moment, but still happy, and as they rode off back towards their picnic site on one of the shaaks, the same thought that had haunted her since the confrontation at her parents’ house assailed her again.

How was she going to tell him?

***

“And when I went to them, we went into … aggressive negotiations. Thank you,” Anakin added to Teckla as she placed a juicy green- and cream-coloured shuura fruit in front of him.

It was suppertime, the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, and Padmé was seated across from him with a fruit in front of her as well, wondering again if she had chosen the right clothing. Certainly her black evening gown was formal enough, long and sparkly and glittery. But a light shawl was all that camouflaged her cleavage, and it was a warm night. Sooner or later, she would have to remove it. Possibly in front of Anakin.

What was I thinking when I chose these clothes? she asked herself in wonder.

Probably you were thinking of Obi-Wan, smirked the small voice.

Then Padmé remembered Anakin was waiting for a response. “Aggressive negotiations? What’s that?”

“Well, uh, negotiations with a lightsaber.” Anakin waved his fork around as though it wasn’t really important.

“Oh, I see,” Padmé said wryly. Trust Anakin to twist it that way. But still, it made her laugh.

She reached with her fork and knife to cut a piece off the fruit, but it moved. Confused, she stabbed her fork down again and the shuura dodged, deliberately avoiding the tines. Padmé looked quickly up at Anakin, who was watching her with an all-too-innocent stare.

“You did that!” she accused.

He shrugged. “What?”

Padmé went for the fruit again, but Anakin’s Jedi reflexes were quicker. This time he floated it all the way across to his plate, cut it in half, and sent one half back over the table towards her. “If Master Obi-Wan caught me doing this he’d be very grumpy,” Anakin confessed.

Padmé pretended to giggle as she speared the fruit slice in midair with her fork and bit into it, but her insides were squirming. Why hasn’t he asked yet? He ought to suspect something. Unless he’s trying to deny to himself what’s out there in the open. But still, it’s not in Anakin’s nature not to ask questions. I wish he would ask me about the dinner conversation with my parents and get it over with.

Presently they finished their dessert, and although she would have liked to escape back to her room again, Anakin invited her to sit by the fire for awhile and she knew it would be impolite to refuse. Particularly after the liberties she had taken earlier in the day. So she consented, hoping that her reluctance didn’t show.

Anakin built a roaring fire in the hearth as Padmé settled herself on one of the couches and tried to relax. She wasn’t even sure why she was agitated, or what there was to be agitated about. She knew only that she was. The room seemed hot, hotter even than it should have been with the fire going. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead and she knew she would have to dispense with her shawl.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Anakin was by her side in an instant as her fingers slipped and slid over the clasp at the back. He easily unhooked it with a touch of his fingers, draping it over the back of the couch. Then, to her horror, he sat right next to her.

Any closer and he’ll be climbing into my lap for a bedtime story, Padmé thought.

She became aware that he was staring at her. A slow, penetrating gaze, as though he was trying to reach into the deepest recesses of her and draw out her secrets. It reminded her of when she had first met him in Watto’s shop, and he had stared at her for at least a full minute before asking her if she was an angel. Padmé swallowed hard and looked away.

He began to speak. “From the moment I met you, all those years ago, not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought of you. And now that I’m with you again, I’m in agony. The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. The thought of not being with you … I can’t breathe. I’m haunted by the kiss that you should never have given me. My heart is beating, hoping that kiss will not become a scar.”

She was looking at him now, she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to just sit there and be admired, like some sort of statue in a village square. She needed to look back at him, acknowledge what he was saying, all the time knowing what her eventual answer would be.

“You are in my very soul, tormenting me,” Anakin continued. “What can I do? I will do anything you ask.”

Stop this, she silently pleaded. Stop this, end this right now. It doesn’t matter if you’ve thought of me for ten years. It doesn’t matter if we kissed. I can’t leap into your arms and become your lover. I just can’t.

He mistook her silence for aloofness and said desperately, “If you are suffering as much as I am, please, tell me!”

Padmé shifted uncomfortably. She knew what she had to say, she knew precisely, but that didn’t make it any easier. “I can’t. We can’t, it’s – just not possible.”

“Anything is possible,” Anakin replied immediately, “please listen, Padmé –”

She found herself on her feet, walking away from him towards the fire, breathing hard. Hating herself for what she would have to say. “No, you listen! We live in a real world. Come back to it! You’re studying to become a Jedi Knight, I’m a Senator. If you follow your thoughts through to conclusion, they will take us to a place we cannot go. Regardless of the way you feel about me!”

His face fell a little. “Then – then you don’t feel anything?”

Padmé went to him, took his hand. “Anakin, I care about you so much. You’re a very dear friend to me. I just don’t think of you in a romantic way. I’m sorry.”

Anakin looked at his feet. The penetrating gaze had gone and he now reminded her very much of a frightened little boy. “Well … could that change, sometime?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” How in the galaxy do you tell someone that you only think of them as a friend without hurting their feelings? Padmé thought. Maybe it can’t be done.

Suddenly Anakin’s anger flared. “It’s because of Obi-Wan, isn’t it?” he said, jerking his hand away from her touch. “You love him, even though you told your parents you didn’t. I was right when I said you two were writing love letters, I knew it!”

“Anakin –” Padmé started.

“He always gets everything! Anything he wants, the Council gives him just because he killed a stupid Sith Lord! Or they would give it to him, but he’s so perfect he would never ask!” Anakin was now pacing back and forth in front of the fire in his agitation. “It’s not fair! He expects everyone to be perfect just because he is, but it won’t happen! There are different kinds of perfection!”

“Of course there are,” Padmé agreed. She wanted to be there for him, to help him as much as she could, but she felt woefully unprepared.

“And now, on top of everything else, you love him! But he’s so perfect, he would never go against the Code, so it’s all a waste! Has he actually told you he loves you?”

“No,” she said, “he hasn’t.”

“I knew it! You see? It is a waste. It’s a complete waste.” Anakin sank down onto the couch with his head in his hands. “It isn’t fair. It just isn’t fair.”

Padmé seated herself next to him, gently hugging him to her. “Well, you know the old saying. If wishes were banthas, beggars would ride. Life isn’t fair, I understand that just as much as you do.”

Anakin’s response was a derisive snort, but he didn’t move away this time.

“No, look at it from my perspective,” Padmé insisted. “Ever since I became Queen my parents have paraded a steady progression of suitors in front of me, any one of whom would have been honoured and pleased to become my husband. Any one of whom would have treated me wonderfully. But I couldn’t marry them, because I didn’t love them. I believe in only marrying if you truly love your intended. Anything less would be dishonest. But the one person I did truly love wasn’t permitted to marry me, by virtue of being a Jedi. And I’m sure,” she added with a heavy sigh, “that he only thinks of me as a friend. So I do know how you feel. Don’t be so quick to assume that you’re alone in the galaxy, Ani. You’re not. I promise.”

She was surprised to find tears pricking her eyelids, and swiped hurriedly at her face.

Anakin bit his lip. “Maybe not,” he conceded. “But that doesn’t exactly solve our problems, does it?”

“No,” Padmé admitted. “I don’t suppose it does. But at least it provides us with someone else to commiserate with. Someone who knows how we feel.”

“For all the good that’ll do us,” Anakin said bitterly. “Were your parents opposed to just Obi-Wan, or all Jedi?”

She sensed them slipping back onto dangerous ground, but could do nothing about it. “I suspect it’s all Jedi. When we first discussed it, my father told me he wanted someone who could make a commitment to me, and that Jedi can’t do that because of the Code. They want me to set up at home like a good little housewife after I retire from the Senate and live with my husband and have six children. I’ve heard them talking about it. But it’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Well, it – it wouldn’t have to be that way,” Anakin said hesitantly. “We could keep it a secret.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If we, well, you know, loved each other and decided to get married. We wouldn’t have to tell anybody what we were doing. We could just … do it.”

Padmé was shaking her head before he had even finished speaking. “We’d be living a lie, one we couldn’t keep even if we wanted to. I couldn’t do that. Could you, Anakin, could you live like that?”

“No, I guess not,” he murmured. “It would destroy us.”

“Besides, I can’t – I can’t marry you anyway,” she said gently. “Didn’t you listen to what I was saying before? I turned down marriage proposals from two men because I didn’t love them. I like you as a friend. And while I’m sure I could be happy married to a friend, it’s not what I want for myself. I’m not even sure if I want to get married in the first place. I want children, but … it all depends on my meeting someone I can love romantically.”

He pulled away from her then, moving to stand beside the fireplace. “Then I can’t – I can’t be with you, I can’t touch you, I just – I have to control myself and the easiest way to do that is just … I can’t do this.”

“Anakin, wait –”

“No! No, I can’t! You don’t understand, if we can’t be together, I have to cut myself off from temptation. I’m a Jedi, I’m not even supposed to be feeling like this in the first place. I’ll still protect you, but I don’t – I can’t be close to you. I’m sorry.”

Padmé lowered her gaze, disappointed but somehow unsurprised. “All right, if that’s what you feel would be best, then that’s what we’ll have to do.”

“Thank you.”

And he turned away, before she could see what it was costing him, before she could spot the tears beginning to stream down his face.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

To Serve and Protect

PERSONAL RECORD: OBI-WAN KENOBI  
It embarrasses me to admit how much I miss Padmé. I am a Jedi, after all. I’m supposed to forego all attachments. And yet sometimes I wonder how realistic that part of the Code is. Not to mention how moral. After all, it forbids attachment, defined as marriage or a significant relationship. It does not forbid the frequenting of the many clubs on Coruscant designed for male pleasure, nor does it forbid partaking in such pleasures. I’ve done it before, and I would never be so naïve as to assume Anakin hasn’t.

So does this mean that the Code encourages such one-night stands, condones them as a valid form of pleasuring oneself? They certainly don’t fit in with my personal beliefs. To love a person you must love them fully, not simply the passionate side which they may present to you. Anything less is disrespectful, really, to both the woman and to yourself. It’s an issue Qui-Gon and I often discussed and it was one of the many stances the Code is firm on with which he disagreed. He understood (as do I) the need for Jedi to have no attachments, but at the very same time he believed that in certain circumstances they could and should be permitted.

I wish now I’d had the chance to ask him to what circumstances he was referring.

Sometimes I’m able to believe the lie that I meditated away my love for Padmé. But most of the time, the truth taunts me with the fact that I simply buried my attachment, buried it after she stopped writing to me because I believed it to be no use. It was always there, far below the surface but ever-present, like a sarlacc’s cave. Now it’s no longer below the surface. Simply being around her, hugging her, offering her comfort, breathing in the scent that is uniquely her, has brought it so far out into the opening that I’m surprised passing Jedi can’t simply read it as they would a signpost.

At least I’m away from Coruscant.

I suppose I should insert one or two platitudes about my mission and what I have discovered. Ordinarily a mission report would take up three quarters of my personal record, but it doesn’t seem to be the case with this entry. The mission is, of course, to find out who is trying to kill Padmé. Anakin and I were close when we cornered the Clawdite bounty hunter outside the club, and had it not been for the toxic dart fired from the air by Jango Fett, we’d most likely have gotten the answer right then. But we didn’t, and so it is my job to piece together the clues and follow them across the galaxy so her attacker can be brought to justice.

I am currently following the homing beacon I placed on Fett’s ship as he departed Kamino. That’s another mystery to add to the ones already piled up – the activities on that watery planet. They’ve created a clone army with thousands of soldiers ready to fight at this very moment, and a million more “in production.” Let us not forget that these soldiers are all sentient beings, created with the genetic imprint provided by Fett himself. Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas apparently ordered this army to be created for the Republic about ten years ago, without the authorization of the Jedi Council. So much about this is puzzling, not least of which is the fact that Sifo-Dyas would go against the Council in such a manner. I reported what I have learned to Masters Yoda and Windu, and they have ordered me to apprehend Fett and bring him to Coruscant for questioning.

It won’t be an easy task, that much is clear. I barely escaped my last encounter with Fett, and it is very clear to me why Sifo-Dyas selected him as the model for the army. The injuries we dealt one another would have put any ordinary being in a medcenter; even now I sit significantly less comfortably than I would ordinarily despite my healing rituals and the copious application of bacta. I shudder to think of what he would do to Padmé were he to catch her.

I must remind myself that she is in Anakin’s capable hands, and although I have misgivings about his being given this assignment, I know at least that she will keep a cool head. Despite what Anakin may want to believe I was not blind to his attempts to charm her when we were on Coruscant. It was rather blatantly obvious, to tell the truth. I hope he can govern his emotions as I have tried to teach him for so long. And, failing that, I hope she doesn’t succumb to his charms.

I suppose I should be concerned about my fervent desire not to “lose” Padmé to Anakin, but I can’t seem to conjure the energy. My Masters would tell me to meditate these feelings away, but I have TRIED. It does NOT work. When I first became aware of those feelings I attempted to release them into the Force, but for some unknown reason, they remained. In any other circumstance that would signify that it is the will of the Force for them to be useful, but I cannot possibly see what purpose romantic feelings for Padmé Amidala would serve. The Force may sanction them but the Jedi Code most assuredly does not.

And yet … whenever I read the letter she wrote me before leaving Coruscant, hope kindles within me. It is a ridiculous notion, but it won’t leave me. Padmé is as dedicated to duty as I am; it is one of the reasons why I love her. She would never abandon her post in the Senate to pursue a romantic affair, of that I’m quite sure.

I suppose I shall eventually have to discuss my feelings with Master Yoda. Perhaps he can help me find a solution. But now I must end this, as my tracking beacon has just informed me that Fett is dropping out of hyperspace.

Obi-Wan punched the controls, disengaging his ship from its hyperdrive ring. “Geonosis,” he noted to his astromech, R4P9. “Although he seems to have dropped out of hyperspace a little early, I wonder why …”

Arfour tootled in reply.

“No, I didn’t expect you to know. Unless he realizes he’s being tailed, but you’d think he would attempt to get rid of me, were that the case … no, of course I don’t want him to start shooting!”

Obi-Wan shook himself a little. He was beginning to sound like Anakin, talking to Arfour like that. “I must have spent a bit too much time away from human companionship,” he murmured before raising his speed to catch up with Fett’s ship.

If Fett was blind to his tail, he certainly didn’t remain that way for long. The ship threaded its way into the asteroid field, dodging the smaller asteroids and flying directly through some of them. Simple for him, his ship is much more maneuverable, Obi-Wan thought. Mine on the other hand … well, let’s just say if I didn’t have the Force as my ally I’d be in a lot of trouble.

He kept quick pace with Fett, matching him roll for roll until …

“Seismic charges!” Obi-Wan blurted in answer to Arfour’s warning feroo-wheep. “Stand by!”

A quick snap-roll and a burst of speed were all that separated him from the exploding asteroids behind him, but he didn’t have time to feel relieved: Fett had dropped two more seismic charges in his path. Snap, lift, nudge in the Force, dodge … Obi-Wan felt as though he had barely escaped, and in the intervening time, Fett’s distinctive ship had disappeared.

Arfour had barely begun to formulate a questioning beep when the Force sang out a warning and a hail of blasterfire erupted behind them. Suddenly the pursuer had become the pursued. “Blast, this is why I hate flying,” Obi-Wan muttered to no one in particular as he dived behind an asteroid and used it for temporary cover. Anakin seemed to draw so much satisfaction out of being shot at in midair, but Obi-Wan had never quite been able to share that feeling. Few things rattled him, yet a space battle with someone as clever as Jango Fett was definitely something that did.

A beep and a screech from Arfour told Obi-Wan of his next difficulty – a torpedo locked directly onto his starship’s signature. Unlike the seismic charges, this would not be so easy to outwit. A torpedo would only be triggered by proximity to its target, since it wasn’t programmed to explode at a specific time. Quickly Obi-Wan ran through his list of options. He could use another asteroid for cover, but there was every possibility that the torpedo would simply hop over it to find him on the other side. He could break for the planet, but if he did that he would lose the chance to tail Fett further and find out who he was working for. Whatever option he chose, he knew he was running out of time.

Suddenly the Force nudged him. “Arfour! Prepare to jettison the spare parts canisters!” Obi-Wan said firmly. If this doesn’t work … “Fire them now!”

The resulting explosion caused Jango Fett to turn to his son Boba with a satisfied smile. “Well, we won’t be seeing him again,” he assured Boba as they headed for Geonosis at last.

Neither of them noticed the small starship anchored to the face of a nearby asteroid.

***

Obi-Wan peered out of the cockpit at Fett’s retreating ship. Thankfully the torpedo had taken the bait and exploded – and Fett hadn’t stuck around to make sure his tail had really been destroyed. He’s obviously in quite a hurry to get wherever he’s going, Obi-Wan thought. The question is, where?

“Have you got their last trajectory logged?” he asked Arfour. “Good, I think we’ve waited long enough.” And he slowly guided his ship off of the asteroid and down through the atmosphere of the planet.

If he had hoped for some of the mysteries to be solved immediately, he was disappointed. “There’s an unusual concentration of Federation ships over there, Arfour,” Obi-Wan noted as several of the large spheres came into view. Did this mean the clone army was somehow connected to the Trade Federation? But if the army was for the Republic, why would the Federation be involved? They had traditionally stood in opposition to the policies of the Republic even though they held a seat in the Senate. Though if Fett was coming here, he was obviously allied with them in some fashion or another. That didn’t fit with his involvement in the creation of the clone army, but …

Unless he’s playing both sides of the field, Obi-Wan thought. Which is entirely possible for a bounty hunter.

Being unable to determine exactly where Fett had gone, he decided to play it safe and set his ship down in a small canyon near one of the planet’s ubiquitous rock formations. He popped the top of his ship, took a deep breath, and jumped out.

The air had a slightly metallic scent about it, but it was breathable. Obi-Wan set off towards the largest rock formation, squinting around and keeping a sharp eye out for possible opponents. Fett could be anywhere, and he didn’t know much about Geonosis aside from the fact that it had never been a member world of the Republic.

He rested within the Force as he walked, making himself part of every rock and every pebble he encountered. “Lifeforms,” he muttered, and quickened his pace. The formation up ahead towered over him, and it was pulsing with life. What kind, he could not tell … but clearly, it was the first step to discovering who Fett was working for and most importantly, why they wanted to kill Padmé.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. That was the truth of it all, that these beings, whoever they were, wanted to kill the woman he loved. He didn’t like to think of it in that way; his Jedi training whispered to him that this was a dangerous path to walk. And yet, as he had written in his personal record, his own Master had said that sometimes, attachments should be permitted.

But then, Qui-Gon was more willing than most to disobey the Council, Obi-Wan reminded himself. I’m not like him. I couldn’t be more dedicated to the Code if I tried.

“That’s what you think,” smirked a voice in his head.

He stopped dead. What? That wasn’t me. Who said that? I would put it down to the Force, but …

But the Force had never spoken in Qui-Gon’s voice.

Obi-Wan blinked. This couldn’t be happening, not now, not when he needed to concentrate on this mission. I must not have meditated quite carefully enough, he decided. Recent lack of sleep is beginning to unbalance my mind.

He paid the strange occurrence no more attention, for he had reached the inside of the rock formation and he could tell he would need to keep his wits about him so as to pass unnoticed. Concealing himself with the Force, Obi-Wan crept silently along a stone hallway, stopping abruptly as footsteps sounded ahead of him. He squinted.

“Now we must persuade the Commerce Guild and the Corporate Alliance to sign the treaty,” a voice was saying.

Obi-Wan’s eyes grew wide. The voice belonged to Count Dooku, a former Jedi who had been Qui-Gon’s Master. Dooku had left the Jedi Order about ten years ago, around the same time as Qui-Gon’s death. Obi-Wan didn’t know much about Dooku’s departure, except that many in the Order had felt the loss quite keenly. Dooku was now immortalized in a bronzium statue in the Jedi Temple’s Archives.

“What about the Senator from Naboo?” demanded another voice. That one was unmistakeable: the Viceroy of the Trade Federation, Nute Gunray. “Is she dead yet? I’m not signing your treaty until I have her head on my desk!”

Obi-Wan very nearly gasped out loud. So Gunray was responsible! Well, perhaps not directly, but he had obviously somehow orchestrated the whole affair. Obi-Wan had a sudden mad desire to rush into the hallway and confront Gunray where he stood. Hurriedly he released it into the Force. Nothing would be gained by his acting so rashly.

“I’m a man of my word, Viceroy,” Dooku said. The footsteps were growing closer.

“With these new battle droids we’ve built for you, Viceroy, you’ll have the finest army in the galaxy,” a deep, mechanical voice intoned. A small group of beings emerged into the light and Obi-Wan saw that the speaker was Wat Tambor of the Techno Union.

So they’re building an alliance, he thought.

Slowly he crept after them, watching as they descended a flight of stairs and took seats in a large conference room. Through a crack in the ceiling he could just make them out, and hear what they were saying. Obi-Wan crouched to listen.

“As I explained to you earlier, I’m quite convinced that ten thousand more systems will rally to our cause with your support,” Dooku was saying. “And let me remind you of our absolute commitment to capitalism … to the lower taxes, the reduced tariffs and the eventual abolishment of all trade barriers. Signing this treaty will bring you profits beyond your wildest imagination. What we are proposing is complete free trade.”

He inclined his head to Gunray, who nodded back, then continued. “Our friends in the Trade Federation have pledged their support. When their battle droids are combined with yours, we shall have an army greater than anything in the galaxy. The Republic will be overwhelmed.”

“If I may, Count,” simpered Passel Argente.

“Yes, we are all interested in hearing from the Corporate Alliance,” Dooku said.

Passel Argente bowed deeply. “I am authorized by the Corporate Alliance to sign the treaty,” he said greasily.

“We are most grateful for your cooperation, Magistrate,” replied Dooku with a slight smile.

“The Commerce Guild does not wish to become openly involved at this time,” Shu Mai told the assemblage. “But we shall support you in secret, and look forward to doing business with you.”

“That is all we ask,” Dooku assured her, then looked towards San Hill of the InterGalactic Banking Clan.

“The InterGalactic Banking Clan will support you wholeheartedly, Count Dooku,” Hill said, “but only in a nonexclusive arrangement.”

It’s settled, then, thought Obi-Wan. Dooku has everything and everyone he needs now; all he’s got to do is declare war openly and the Republic will fall. Except, we do have that army …

He didn’t know if that would even be enough, or if the Senate would authorize the use of the clones. They had been squabbling for months now over the creation of an army for the Republic in the first place, but from the looks of things they could not afford to waste months more.

Either way, the Jedi Council needed to be informed.

***

Some time later, Obi-Wan sat in his starfighter and stifled a sigh, releasing his frustration into the Force. “The transmitter is working, but we’re not receiving a return signal,” he murmured to Arfour. “Coruscant’s too far … can you boost the power?”

Arfour beeped doubtfully.

“Right then, we’ll have to try something else.” Obi-Wan stroked his beard thoughtfully. Then the answer came to him. “Naboo is closer. Maybe we can contact Anakin and get the information relayed.” It would be a sneaky, yet plausible, way to see Padmé again, too.

But it wasn’t to be. A few moments later, Arfour tooted negatively. Obi-Wan blinked. “How can he not be on Naboo? Anakin? Anakin, do you copy? This is Obi-Wan Kenobi.” A moment later he tossed aside the comm in frustration. Where could Anakin be? And if he wasn’t on Naboo, did that mean he’d taken Padmé with him? Was she safe? “I’m going to try and widen the range. I do hope nothing’s happened to him.”

He tried to school his features into an aura of calm, but Arfour wasn’t having it. He beeped and tootled in a decidedly amused tone.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Arfour, I’m concerned for my Padawan,” Obi-Wan retorted. His frown deepened as he squinted at the console in front of him showing a location. “That’s Anakin’s tracking signal, all right. But it’s coming from Tatooine! What in blazes is he doing there? I told him to stay on Naboo!”

Was Padmé with him? Obi-Wan could not stop that thought from pushing its way into his mind. He should have told her before she left Coruscant how he felt instead of just hugging her and hurrying her on her way … of course, Anakin and Typho and Dormé had been right there, but they could have found a quiet corner of the airtaxi. He could have kissed her just the way he had wanted to for two years now, could have told her everything he hadn’t dared to say in his letters. But he had missed his chance, and now – now he might not see her again.

He swallowed hard. Even if that were true, even if something had happened to her and Anakin, he still needed to do his duty. Padmé would want him to.

So Obi-Wan released his feelings into the Force, to be dealt with later, and climbed out of his starfighter. “Anakin? Anakin, do you copy, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi. My long-range transmitter has been knocked out. Retransmit this message to Coruscant.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Padmé's Decision

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
I hate feeling so helpless. Granted, it’s a feeling I’ve become quite accustomed to over the past few days, but that doesn’t make it any easier to tolerate. It seems as though I’m always waiting for something to happen, for someone to return, for a mystery to be solved, ever since the first assassination attempt that caused Obi-Wan and Anakin to become my guards and then me to be transported to Naboo against my will. Now, I’m waiting on Anakin’s return, with news about his mother and whether she is all right.

I suppose I should back up and explain. The night before last, I was going to fetch a glass of water when I heard strange noises coming from Anakin’s bedroom. It sounded as though he was talking – no, crying out – in his sleep. I wasn’t sure if I should venture closer, but he seemed to be in such distress that I could not help myself. I creaked open his bedroom door to find him tangled in his covers, pounding one hand into his pillow and moaning, “Mom! No – stop – Mom! Please, no!”

I didn’t know what to do. I stood there, frozen, while he thrashed and cried. I couldn’t exactly march in there and climb into bed with him and hold him. I don’t want to give him mixed signals, especially after what happened between us by the fireplace. I don’t want him to think I’ve changed my mind, because I haven’t. And yet, as I said, he was in such distress.

As I stood there puzzling, he suddenly quieted. The thrashing stopped, his breathing slowed and he became calm, right before my eyes. I didn’t understand what had happened but neither was I about to question it. I simply returned to my room and climbed back into bed, falling quickly asleep.

I didn’t give the matter another thought until the next morning, when I passed by the balcony. Anakin was there, standing with legs wide apart and eyes closed. I could tell he was meditating, and I began to withdraw because I didn’t want to intrude upon what was obviously a very private moment for him.

“Don’t go,” he said.

“I don’t want to disturb you,” I explained.

“Your presence is soothing,” Anakin replied, breathing deeply.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I should have been touched, perhaps, but something about the lines in his face and the memory of the nightmare last night – if, indeed, that’s what it was – stopped me from feeling anything but concern and worry. I also felt exposed, standing there in my sheer nightdress and dressing gown, but I couldn’t leave. Not until I figured out what had occurred last night.

“You had a nightmare last night,” I said. It wasn’t intended to be a question.

“Jedi don’t have nightmares,” Anakin said firmly, without turning. He looked like a small, innocent child at that moment, just as much as he had when I met him at the age of nine. So small, and yet wanting to be so strong.

“I heard you,” was all I said, hoping that the truth could make him understand.

And suddenly, he had turned, and was looking at me unguarded. “I saw my mother,” he confessed, his voice full of raw pain. “I saw her as clearly as I see you now. She is suffering, Padmé. She is in pain. I know I’m disobeying my mandate to protect you, I know I’ll be disciplined and possibly thrown out of the Jedi Order, but – I must go to her. I don’t have a choice.”

I moved forward and embraced him, though I didn’t intend to at first. “I’ll go with you,” I said softly into his shoulder. “That way you can rescue her and yet you won’t be disobeying your mandate.”

I’m not even sure what caused me to say that. I’ve acted rashly in the past, certainly, but I like to think of myself as older and wiser now, less prone to acting without thinking. Maybe it was the influence of having spent so much time on Naboo doing nothing, while my colleagues laboured in the Senate to oppose the Military Creation Act and Obi-Wan searched the galaxy for my assassin. That’s what I’m trying to tell myself, anyway, because from where I sit at the moment our decision does indeed seem to be quite a dangerous one. My conscience, my soul, knows that it is because I could not stand to see Anakin looking so lost, so helpless, on that balcony. He is so very close to his mother; I was even able to see it in the short time I spent with them ten years ago. Shmi is such a kind woman. I would hate for anything to happen to her.

So it was for all of those reasons that we took my starship and departed Naboo. I wanted desperately to send a message to Obi-Wan to tell him, but I knew that Anakin wouldn’t forgive me and Obi-Wan wouldn’t condone our trip. Not that his approval is the be-all and end-all for me, but I hate the idea that I might be lying to him. And Anakin … well, he would certainly forbid him from going. I hope Obi-Wan doesn’t discover we are gone. He would worry so.

Anakin wanted to start on Tatooine, which of course logical given that it’s where he lived with his mother before Qui-Gon freed him. After arriving at Mos Espa spaceport, grabbing our provisions bag plus my cover-up and being shouted at by an irritated dockhand (he referred to my ship as an “oversized planetoid yacht”), we were able to charter a rickshaw pulled by a droid to venture into the main part of the port. Our destination: Watto’s junkshop. We were unsure if it even still existed, but we figured that was our best place to start.

“If he’s done anything to her, I’ll take him apart and won’t put him back together!” Anakin promised with a snarl.

I put my hand on his arm. “Don’t worry. Once we get to the shop, we’ll figure everything out.”

Watto was sitting outside his junkshop when we arrived, attempting futilely to fix some broken pit droids. I stood back and let Anakin handle the details.

“Excuse me,” Anakin said to the green fluttering creature who, just ten years ago, had owned him as a slave.

“What? I don’t know you, what can I do for you?” Watto blustered in Huttese. As part of my language education, I could understand him perfectly. He fumbled with his tools and finally looked up, taking in the whole of Anakin’s admittedly quite tall form. Anakin took the broken pit droid and a spare wrench and began to effortlessly effect repairs. Watto babbled frantically.

“He doesn’t know you,” I whispered to Anakin, still chuckling over Watto’s last exclamation, which translated to: “Wait, you’re a Jedi! Whatever it is, I didn’t do it!”

Anakin gave Shmi’s name, and realization dawned over Watto’s face. He then recounted a story that sounded almost too amazing to be true. According to him, years ago a moisture farmer named Lars had come to Mos Espa and Watto’s shop. Seeing Shmi, Lars fell in love with her and persuaded Watto to sell her. Upon arrival at Lars’ moisture farm, he freed Shmi and then asked her to marry him. She accepted, and they were now living happily last Watto had heard.

Our next stop was the moisture farm outside of Mos Eisley, where Lars had taken Shmi to live as his wife. Upon our arrival we were reunited with an old friend – C3PO, the droid Anakin built when he was nine years old to help his mother. Threepio was very pleased to see us, and introduced us to Owen Lars, his girlfriend Beru, and Cliegg Lars, who is Shmi’s husband. Cliegg was riding in a powerchair that hovered a few feet over the ground, and his right leg was amputated above the knee.

The Lars family led us inside to a kitchen and served us juice. Then the whole story came out. Shmi had indeed been living quite happily with the Lars family, and she and Cliegg were deeply in love. One morning Shmi went out to pick the mushrooms that grow on the moisture vaporators. Halfway back, she was taken by Tusken Raiders. A group of local farmers attempted a mission to retrieve her, but they were attacked by Tuskens and many were killed. Cliegg’s leg was cut off by a trip wire. They were thusly forced to turn back without their quarry. Shmi has been gone a month, as of today.

I remember the Tusken Raiders from the last time I was on Tatooine. I didn’t encounter them directly, but I watched on a viewpad as a group of them shot at Anakin’s pod when he roared past them during that fateful podrace. They didn’t cause any direct damage to his racer, but one of their shots found the engine of a fellow contestant’s pod and exploded it, killing the contestant and causing a fireball that Anakin just barely managed to escape.

The Tuskens just look … strange, as well. You can’t see an inch of their flesh because they keep themselves all wrapped up in brown bandages and rags. They carry heavy gaffe sticks with which they’ll hit you if you get too close. They certainly don’t sound as though they would show any mercy to anyone. Their camps are virtually impossible to attack.

Yet that’s where Anakin is headed, probably right at this moment. Immediately after he was given the news by Cliegg, he stood up from the table and announced in a matter-of-fact tone that he was going to find his mother. He planned to seek out the offending Raiders’ camp and rescue Shmi. All this without knowing if she is even alive, or where she is.

I knew that there was no talking him out of this course of action, however. I too stood from the table and went outside to see him off. He was polishing the seat of Owen’s speeder bike, preparing to set out. He spotted me and moved towards me.

“You’re going to have to stay here,” he said gently. “These are good people, Padmé. You’ll be safe.”

I acknowledged his words with a nod and then just stood looking at him for a few moments. He looked so grown-up, so refined, every bit the part of the heroic-looking Jedi about to set off on an important mission from which he might not return. I was frightened for him, but I was also frightened for me. What if I never saw him again? I didn’t think I could bear it. He had, has, become such a close friend to me.

Maybe that’s why I was suddenly rushing towards him and, with an “Oh, Anakin!” and then hugging him tightly. We did not kiss. But he definitely hugged back. We held each other for a period that was both infinite and not nearly long enough. I squeezed as tightly as I could, barely able to restrain myself and my feelings. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the hug was over, Anakin was mounting his speeder bike and he was taking off, leaving me to stare for as long as I could at his quickly retreating form.

I am still concerned for him now. So, so concerned. Having him here with me has become so familiar, a distraction from my frustration at being taken away from the Senate and my work, and my feelings for Obi-Wan that will mostly likely never be reciprocated. And now Anakin is gone as well. I don’t know what to do. I feel … lost. It is not a comfortable feeling.

I must try to sleep.

Toss, toss, turn. Toss, toss, turn.

Padmé had been repeating that sequence for over two standard hours, and still it had not helped to ease any of the pain in her heart. Nor had it allowed her to drift off into a peaceful sleep.

I wonder if I will ever be peaceful again, she thought.

There was so much about her life that she wished she could change, or have a chance to do differently. Why had she decided to follow this path so hopefully, believing that she could change the galaxy when all she had done was to make herself miserable? Did all beings live like this, exchanging their personal satisfaction for the greater good?

Of course not, she reprimanded herself. Too bad the one being I am in love with does. And the other, for whom I care so much, also does.

Yet she knew it wasn’t right to think in such a negative fashion. She loved Obi-Wan precisely because he had followed that path of selflessness. It was one similar to her own. They had so much in common, and they had admitted to each other more than once in their letters that they considered the other their best friend.

Mom always told me ‘Marry your best friend, and you can’t go wrong,’ Padmé thought. But what if my best friend is a Jedi? Besides, she was lying to me. She doesn’t want me to marry my best friend. She wants me to marry a man who suits her sensibilities. Hers and Dad’s.

She turned again in her bed, punching her pillow for the twentieth time. The bed wasn’t uncomfortable, nor was the room. But there was so much on her mind, and so little space in which to store it all. She felt as though matters would soon be coming to a head, that a resolution was at hand. But what might it be? Would it be positive, or negative?

Padmé’s heart ached for Anakin, who might be right now risking his life to save his mother, and for Obi-Wan, who was risking his life to save her. They were such different people. But she cared about them both, and her feelings of friendship and affection towards Anakin were no less strong than her feelings of love for Obi-Wan. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to tell either of them.

She rolled to face the wall, and knew that sleep would not arrive to claim her that night. Slowly Padmé pushed back the covers, swinging her legs over the side. Perhaps if she explored a little, got some air … she wouldn’t go far of course, for a fine mess it would be if somehow she got into trouble when Anakin wasn’t there.

Padmé climbed the steps mechanically, not really thinking about where she was going until she felt the night air on her face. It was surprisingly cool for a desert planet, but then the sun wasn’t up yet. She could see a thin line of gray along the horizon, the only signal of the approaching dawn. By reflex she lowered her gaze to the spot where Anakin had driven off, riding Owen Lars’ speeder bike. There was no sign that he was returning, no approaching shadow or soft roar.

She sighed. Suddenly, she felt very alone.

Without knowing how, Padmé found herself in the workshop. It was small, and doubled as a shed where equipment could be kept. She wandered along one of the workbenches, picking up tools, examining them and putting them down again. Wondering where Obi-Wan and Anakin were now, and what they were doing.

“Hello, Miss Padmé!” exclaimed a voice, causing her to jump with alarm. It was C3PO, peering out at her from behind a power console. “You can’t sleep?”

“No,” Padmé sighed. “I have too many things on my mind, I guess.”

“Are you worried about your work in the Senate?” C3PO asked kindly.

“No, I’m concerned about my friends. Obi-Wan, and Anakin … there’s things I should have said to Obi-Wan in person before I left Coruscant, but I didn’t. I gave him a letter instead, and I don’t know if he’ll even read it or take seriously what I wrote. And Anakin – well, I said things, and I’m afraid I might have hurt him. Maybe I only hurt myself. For the first time in my life, I’m confused. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m not sure it will make you feel any better, Miss Padmé, but I don’t think there’s been a time in my life when I haven’t been confused,” C3PO said.

“I want Anakin to know that I care about him, Threepio,” Padmé said softly. “I do care about him, even if it’s only as a friend would. And now he’s out there, and possibly in danger –”

“Don’t worry about Master Ani,” the droid replied, coming to stand reassuringly at her shoulder. “He can take care of himself, even in this awful place.”

Padmé regarded him quizzically. “Awful? You’re not happy here?”

“Well, this is a very harsh environment, I’m afraid,” Threepio replied. “And when Master Ani made me, he never quite found the time to give me any outer coverings. Mistress Shmi did well in finishing me, but even with the coverings, the wind and the sand are quite harsh. It gets in under my coverings, and it’s quite … itchy.”

“Itchy?” Padmé asked, chuckling a little.

“I do not know how else to describe it, Miss Padmé. And I fear that the sand is doing damage to my wiring,” he finished rather pitifully.

Padmé smiled as she looked over into the corner and saw a tub bubbling with a dark amber liquid. “I bet you need an oil bath,” she said.

“Oh, I would welcome a bath!” C3PO said, obviously delighted.

It took her a few moments to figure out how to use the hoist mechanism, meant for lowering droids and mechanical parts into the tub, but eventually she had it operating properly. Padmé fixed C3PO into the hoist and watched as he descended carefully into the tub.

“Oooh, that tickles!” he exclaimed.

“Tickles? You’re sure it’s not an itch?” Padmé laughed.

“I do know the difference between a tickle and an itch,” said Threepio haughtily.

Giggling, she kept her hand on the switch, sending him lower and lower until –

“Oh, oh, oh my goodness, help!” he screamed. “I’m blind, help!”

Momentarily startled, Padmé peeked into the tub and realized she had lowered him too far, so that his eyes were covered by the oil. Hastily she flicked the switch in the other direction, manipulating the hoist to raise it and deposit the droid on the outside of the tub. He stood dripping with oil but looking much more comfortable.

“Better?” she asked.

“Much better, Miss Padmé,” Threepio said, moving his arms around as though to check that the bath really had made a difference. “No more itches.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Padmé said, leaning closer to examine her work. The droid definitely looked shinier and cleaner after the bath, and it had given her something to do. A temporary refuge from her troubles. But alas, only a temporary one.

For Owen came running suddenly into the workshop. “Well, there you are!” he exclaimed. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Anakin’s back, Beru spotted him coming over the horizon.”

Padmé was racing from the workshop before Owen could complete his sentence. “Where?” she gasped breathlessly, joining Beru and Cliegg on the crest of a small sand dune. “I don’t see him.”

“There.” Beru pointed, and Padme caught sight of a small black dot on the horizon, silhouetted against the now-shining sun. Soon enough, Anakin pulled up a short distance away from them, dismounted the bike, and cradled a shrouded figure in his arms.

“Oh, Shmi,” Cliegg whispered, bowing his head. Beru buried her face in Owen’s chest; her shoulders were shaking with sobs.

Padmé could only look on, numb and dumbstruck, as Anakin walked past carrying his mother’s body. Their eyes met momentarily, and she was shocked at how much his had changed. Instead of the soft blue to which she had become accustomed, she saw only blackness. Dark, blank depths that reminded her of cold tunnels. Terrible pain was etched on his face, but there was something else there too … a kind of haunted guilt. She bit her lip, resolving to ask him about it as soon as she could.

***

The funeral was set for later that afternoon, and when the discussion to hold it had been completed, Anakin disappeared. Padmé grew even more concerned, and hurried into the kitchen to prepare a snack for her friend. There she found Beru, pouring out juice with a vacant look in her eyes.

“What’s it like there?” asked Beru.

Padmé started. “I’m sorry?”

“On Naboo. What’s it like?”

“Oh, it’s … it’s very green,” Padmé said, her mind not on the conversation at all. “You know, with lots of water, and trees and plants everywhere. It’s not like here at all.” She began arranging food on a tray.

“I think I like it better here,” Beru replied.

“Maybe you’ll come and see it someday,” Padmé offered politely.

Beru shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t like to travel.”

Padmé sighed as she climbed the steps to the courtyard. Beru was nice enough, but so different from her. The simple, kind woman would undoubtedly do well as a farm wife when Owen took over, yet Padmé herself could never think of a life like that. So tethered, so … simple. So far removed from the rest of the galaxy as to be able to believe that it didn’t exist. What a strange way to live.

She entered the workshop where hours earlier she had whiled away time with Threepio. Anakin was bent over the speeder bike, tinkering with a piece of equipment, murmuring to himself. Padmé carefully set the tray down on a free surface, searching for the right words.

“I – I brought you something to eat,” she said lamely.

“The shifter broke,” Anakin muttered in her general direction. “Life seems so much simpler when you’re fixing things. I’m good at fixing things, always was. But …” He broke off, squeezing and releasing his grip on a wrench.

Padmé went to him, resting her hands gently on his waist and pulling him into a backwards hug. She saw his lips form the words, “Why did she have to die?” and ached for him. He was feeling what she felt after Cordé died, only much more magnified and enhanced. And still, there was something else there, some other truth that had not yet been revealed.

“Why couldn’t I save her?” Anakin whispered. “I know I could have.”

He was a boy again, a small, terrified nine-year-old boy in the greatroom of the Naboo Royal Starship. Only now, he had no mother to think of for comfort. Padmé swallowed hard to keep in the tears that were threatening to burst forth.

“Ani, you tried,” she said softly. “Sometimes there are things no one can fix. You’re not all-powerful.”

“Well I should be!” he said savagely, finally demonstrating some of the anger she had suspected was simmering below the surface. “Someday I will be. I will be – the most powerful Jedi ever! I will even learn to stop people from dying!”

“Anakin!” she gasped, abruptly letting go. Stunned by the depth of his words and the obvious intent behind them.

“It’s all Obi-Wan’s fault!” Anakin snapped, throwing the wrench away as though it, too, had angered him. “He’s jealous! He wants me out of the way because he knows I’m already more powerful than he is! He’s holding me back!”

Padmé bit her tongue until she tasted blood. She hated hearing him talk about Obi-Wan that way, but this was not the time to bring up her feelings for him, either. “Anakin, what’s wrong?” she exclaimed, her voice rising in tone and volume despite her attempts to keep it under control.

“I told you!” Anakin roared.

“No!” she shouted back just as harshly. “No, you didn’t! What’s really wrong?”

He stared at her, his eyes liquid black. Brimming, she realized, with unshed tears.

“I know it hurts, Anakin,” Padmé said a little softer. “But this is more than that. What’s really wrong?”

He began to shake. Slowly at first, until his whole body was trembling. He looked as though he was going into shock. Frightened, she went impulsively to him and held him.

“I – I killed them,” he said, and there was disbelief in his voice. “I killed them all. They’re dead. Every single one of them.”

Padmé sucked in her breath, unwilling to believe it. “You did battle …”

“Not just the men,” Anakin continued, as though he hadn’t heard, “but the women and the children too. They’re like animals! And I slaughtered them like animals! I hate them!”

She kept holding him while he shook, not knowing what else to do or say.

“Why do I hate them?” He was whispering again.

Padmé found her voice at last. “Do you hate them, or do you hate what they did to your mother?”

“I hate them!” Anakin blurted.

“Listen,” she said, guiding him down to the floor, “I’m not going to sit here and lie to you, tell you that what you did wasn’t wrong. Because it was. And I’m not a Jedi, so I can’t tell you what impact this has on your training or you as a person. You need to talk to someone. A Jedi.”

“No,” he tried to shout, but it came out as more of a whimper. “They wouldn’t understand, I’m the only – the only Jedi who was accepted into the Order when I was nine. Padmé, you’re the only person … I can talk to you. And you understand me.”

She swallowed again and held him tight as he collapsed into her arms, rocking him and trying to tell him everything would be all right.

***

“I know wherever you are, it’s become a better place,” Cliegg Lars said quietly as he picked up a handful of sand and sprinkled it on his wife’s grave. “You were the most loving partner a man could ever have. Goodbye, my darling wife. And thank you.”

Padmé stood with them, but separately, feeling as though she was an intruder upon the family grief. Three white headstones stood as brutal evidence of the toll a life on Tatooine could exact. One of them, newly dug, belonged to Shmi. It was before this stone that Anakin now crouched, and although he spoke softly, Padmé could hear every word.

“I wasn’t strong enough to save you, Mom,” he said simply. She wanted to go to him, hug him, but held back. She had served her role. “I wasn’t strong enough. But I promise I won’t fail again. I miss you … so much …”

Suddenly, a frantic series of beeps interrupted everyone’s quiet contemplation. Padmé whipped around to see R2D2 rolling determinedly towards them, tootling as he went.

“Artoo? What are you doing here?” she asked.

The little droid whistled shrilly and C3PO interpreted, “It seems that he is carrying a message from an Obi-Wan Kenobi. Does that mean anything to you, Master Anakin?”

Padmé’s heart gave a huge bound and she felt the corners of her mouth lifting for the first time in hours. Obi-Wan had contacted them! What did he want? Was he all right? Had he found her assassin so she could go back to Coruscant and the Senate?”

“What is it?” Anakin was saying. “Retransmit? Why, what’s wrong?”

“He says it’s quite important,” Threepio informed them.

Five minutes later Padmé, Anakin, R2D2 and C3PO (whom Owen had said Anakin could keep) were back on board Padmé’s starship listening to a recorded holomessage from Obi-Wan. As soon as it flickered to life, Padmé felt herself relax. If he was able to transmit a message, he was obviously alive and okay. She scanned his frame, noting that he seemed to be holding himself rather carefully – perhaps he had been injured? – and drinking in his soft musical accent. How she had missed hearing his voice …

“Anakin, my long-range transmitter has been knocked out,” Obi-Wan’s hologram explained. “Retransmit this message to Coruscant.”

Quickly Padmé slid over to the communications console, typed in the coordinates for the Jedi Temple, then turned back to hear the rest of the message.

“I have tracked the bounty hunter Jango Fett to the droid foundries on Geonosis,” Obi-Wan went on. “The Trade Federation is to take delivery of a droid army here and it is clear that Viceroy Gunray is behind the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala.” A ghost of a smile, so quick as to almost not be noticeable, moved across his face as he said her name. “The Commerce Guild and Corporate Alliance have both pledged their armies to Count Dooku and are forming a – wait! Wait!”

For Padmé Amidala, time slowed and then stopped as she watched him swing around, draw his lightsaber, and begin to deflect blaster bolts from three destroyer droids. She was breathing heavily, she could hear Anakin speaking with Mace Windu, but it all seemed to be coming from very far away. She could see nothing but Obi-Wan, repeating his message then fending off the droids, over and over, and she wanted to cling to that image, protect it, have him there physically in her arms to reassure herself that he was safe, that he had not been shot, that this was all just a big mistake …

Fright and desperation enveloped her, and she could not escape.

“The most important thing for you, Anakin, is to stay where you are,” Windu was saying. “Protect the Senator at all costs. That is your first priority.”

“I understand, Master,” Anakin replied.

Padmé was sliding back over to the communications console before she even realized it. “They’ll never get there in time to save him, they have to come halfway across the galaxy,” she said desperately, choking back a sob. “Look, Geonosis is less than a parsec away.”

“If he’s still alive,” answered Anakin grimly.

She sat there, shocked and only just holding onto her emotions, gaping open-mouthed at him. Yet some small part of her knew that she could not just blurt out But Ani, we have to save him, I love him! Rather, she needed to appeal to the side of her friend that was Obi-Wan’s student. Padmé swallowed hard. “Anakin, are you just going to sit here and let him die?” she cried. “He’s your friend, your mentor –”

“He’s like my father!” Anakin shot back. “But you heard Master Windu, he gave me strict orders to stay here!”

Padmé turned away, determined not to let him see her cry. Sure enough, two tears rolled down her cheeks before she could stop them. Her shoulders shook as wave after wave of panic and grief rolled over her. She couldn’t lose Obi-Wan, not now, not when she had never kissed him or told him that she loved him! She needed him. That was the simple, fundamental truth of it: Padmé Amidala needed Obi-Wan Kenobi, much as she had tried to deny it, much as she had tried to close herself off from her emotions and convince herself that it was impossible. It had taken the threat of losing him to realize just how powerful her emotions had become.

Perhaps, then, the time for action had come at last. And if Anakin was not going to take that action, it was up to her.

She swiped at her eyes, pulling herself over to the copilot’s area and taking two deep breaths. “He gave you strict orders to protect me,” she told Anakin, surprised that her voice was no longer quivering. “And I’m going to help Obi-Wan. If you plan to protect me, you’ll just have to come along.”

Padmé had expected further resistance, but met none. Instead, Anakin smiled for first time in days and assumed the pilot’s chair, familiarizing himself with the controls while Padmé keyed in the coordinates of Obi-Wan’s last known position.

Moments later, the Naboo starship blasted off into the sunny Tatooine sky.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Geonosis

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
I can’t sit here and write.

But neither can I sleep.

I thought nothing could be worse than the waiting I had to endure while Anakin was gone. I was wrong.

This is worse, this is infinitely worse. I’m trying to shut out the horrible thoughts that keep coursing through my mind, but I can’t.

I won’t be able to think of anyone or anything else but Obi-Wan until I know he is alive and safe.

“Are you okay?”

Anakin’s soft question nearly caused Padmé to jump through the ceiling of her space cruiser.

“Wh – what?” she stammered, nearly dropping her datapad as she fumbled to put it away.

“I asked if you were okay,” Anakin replied, expertly manipulating the controls to bring them into Geonosis’ atmosphere. “You look like you just saw a ghost. When we watched Obi-Wan’s message I thought you were going to faint.”

Padmé blinked for several moments, carefully crafting an answer under the pretext of looking out the window. “Yes,” she finally answered, not believing the strength in her voice. “I’m fine. See those columns of steam over there? They’re exhaust vents of some type.”

“That’ll do,” Anakin said, still looking sideways at her as if he didn’t quite believe her response.

He has reason to, Padmé thought, because I am definitely not fine.

They landed quickly, masked by the steam, and prepared to leave the ship. Padmé wasn’t exactly sure what sorts of provisions might be needed, nor what sorts of beings they might encounter, so she packed her light blaster, several spare packs of cartridges and three canteens of water. There might still be a way to resolve this without fighting, but I’m not taking any chances.

“Look, whatever happens out there, follow my lead,” she instructed Anakin as she pulled on her white shawl. “I’m not interested in getting into a war here. As a member of the Senate, maybe I can find a diplomatic solution to this mess.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ve given up trying to argue with you.”

They headed down the ship’s ramp, coming out onto a small platform cloaked in steam. Wordlessly Padmé pointed straight ahead, and Anakin nodded. There didn’t seem to be anyone – or anything – around, but she had to admit she was very glad to have him with her. She was a good shot, but nothing equaled the efficiency of a lightsaber when it came to deflecting blaster bolts.

A short distance along they came to a heavy steel door, hinged so that it lifted up and out of the way instead of swinging to the left or right. Padmé turned to Anakin, intending to ask whether he thought they should turn back and find another way in, when suddenly the door lifted with a grinding whirr. Slowly, they entered.

Padmé didn’t want to admit it, but she was starting to have second thoughts about this endeavour. However talented Anakin might be – and she knew he was indeed prodigiously so – they wouldn’t last very long if they met a whole army of battle droids, or even an army of Geonosians. There was no telling where the door might lead. Perhaps they were walking into a trap.

Suddenly the idea of the rescue mission seemed very foolish. But she couldn’t give up now; Obi-Wan’s life might depend on their being able to get to him quickly. Padmé knew she would never forgive herself if he perished and she didn’t at least attempt to help him. Well, I might never forgive myself anyway for waiting so long to tell him the truth, she thought. But this is a start.

They crept cautiously along the hallway. Padmé noticed that Anakin’s hand never left the hilt of his lightsaber; he looked ready to draw it at any moment. So he’s just as jittery as I feel. She grasped his arm as something skittered away to their left. “It feels like … like we’re being watched,” she whispered.

“We are being watched,” was Anakin’s matter-of-fact reply.

“Great,” Padmé muttered. “And when exactly were you going to –”

“Wait,” he said, holding out a hand to stop her. They squinted through the gloom, trying to discern the source of the threat, when suddenly –

“RUN!” Anakin bellowed as dozens of flapping Geonosians suddenly poured out of the cavernous walls.

Padmé didn’t need telling twice. She took off at top speed for the end of the hallway, sparing a glance over her shoulder at Anakin. The Geonosians carried small guns that worked a bit like blasters, but he seemed to be holding his own against them. No, better than holding his own, she realized as he finished off the remaining creatures and hurried after her.

Quickly she punched a nearby control panel and a door slid open right in front of her. Padmé scrambled through and nearly fell down – the platform ended there. She had come out into an enormous battle droid factory. Dumbfounded, she blinked and stared around, unsure what to do next.

Footsteps pounded frantically behind her and she put a hand on her blaster, ready to defend herself. But it was Anakin. “Back,” he said, but before either of them could react, the door slammed shut and the platform under their feet started to retract. Padmé took a deep breath and leapt off, landing hard on a conveyor belt below.

“Oof!” she exclaimed, the breath momentarily knocked out of her. Clumsily she got to her feet and immediately had to dive back down as a row of mechanical arms carrying droid parts flew over her head. For the next minutes Padmé found herself ducking, dodging and backpedaling as she tried to avoid the various droid-making machines.

The factory was nightmarishly dangerous. She barely had time to recover her breath before she was scooped up by a Geonosian guard and tossed into a large metal vat used for pouring and compressing molten metal. Padmé would not have found her way out if it hadn’t been for R2D2, who had followed them and was able to plug into the computer system to stop the pouring process.

She lay on a metal drum after rolling out of the vat, panting and gasping and wondering where in the galaxy Anakin could have got to when suddenly, she was surrounded.

At least fifteen Geonosians encircled her, each pointing one of those strange blaster guns straight at her. Slowly and carefully, Padmé got to her feet, her hands in the air. She knew it would do no good to resist. And maybe, if she allowed them to capture her, she could break away and find Obi-Wan somehow.

That was the plan. Unfortunately, it failed almost before it could begin. Padmé was stripped of her weapons and shoved down a long hallway and into a conference room. Seconds later, Anakin was pushed roughly into the same room and hurried to stand behind her.

“Padmé!” he exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” she gasped. “What happened to –”

But the words died in her throat, for Count Dooku had just entered from a door on the other side.

What happened next seemed almost rehearsed, as though it was a prearranged meeting agreed to by both parties. Of course the idea was ludicrous; Padmé had certainly not intended to be captured by Dooku when this began, and she was betting he hadn’t counted on ensnaring such valuable quarry as herself and Anakin. Nevertheless, she had the unpleasant sense that now they were caught, all of this was playing out exactly as Dooku had anticipated.

Anakin shot her a look that said plainly, If you want to negotiate, the time is now.

So Padmé took a deep breath and faced Count Dooku across the table, her arms clasped tightly in front of her. She was very aware that this was the most important negotiation of her career – for Obi-Wan’s life might well be at stake. “You are holding a Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I am formally requesting that you turn him over to me now.”

“He has been convicted of espionage, Senator, and will be executed,” Dooku said dispassionately. “In just a few hours, as a matter of fact.”

“He is an officer of the Republic!” Padmé answered, her voice rising in agitation despite her attempts to keep it steady. “You can’t do that.”

“We don’t recognize the Republic here,” was the smooth response. “However, if Naboo were to join our alliance, I could easily hear your plea for clemency.”

Part of her was tempted, she could not deny that. As Senator, her words held nearly as much clout at the Queen’s, and if she were to declare that Naboo was leaving the Republic to throw its lot in with the Separatists, the decision would be final and binding. My planet’s allegiance in exchange for my love’s life, she thought. How can he force me to make that choice? He knows what my answer must be.

“And if I don’t choose to join your rebellion, I assume this Jedi with me will also die,” Padmé said, stalling for time.

“I don’t wish to make you join our cause against your will, Senator, but you are a rational, honest, loving representative of your people,” Count Dooku replied, “and I assume you want to do what’s in their best interest. Aren’t they fed up with the corruption, the bureaucrats, the hypocrisy of it all? Aren’t you? Be honest, Senator.”

His words had a ring of truth to them, and she was certain there were many on Naboo who shared his viewpoints. But Padmé had always been taught that the best way to deal with an issue was to work within the framework already provided to solve the problem, not create an entirely new framework. “Suppose you make a new system which then falls prey to the exact same pitfalls that led to its creation?” she remembered one of her mentors telling her. “You will be back where you started and no better off.”

But did those ideals hold up, in the end? Was she willing to sacrifice her life, or Obi-Wan’s, or Anakin’s, in order to see that they were upheld?

She knew that Obi-Wan would give his life in a second to save the Republic. That was why she loved him – she felt the same.

“The ideals are still alive, Count, even if the institutions are failing,” said Padmé carefully.

“You believe in the same ideals we believe in!” Dooku vehemently responded. “The same ideals we are striving to make prominent!”

“But those are the ideals of the Republic as well,” Padmé argued. “There is no need to create an entirely new framework to support them because that framework already exists. If you truly believed in those principles, as you say you do, you would have stayed in the Republic and helped Chancellor Palpatine put things right.”

“The Chancellor means well, m’lady, but he is incompetent,” said Dooku dismissively. “He has promised to cut the bureaucracy, but the bureaucrats are stronger than ever. The Republic cannot be fixed, Senator. It is time to start over. The democratic process in the Republic is a sham. A game played on the voters. The time will come when that cult of greed called the Republic will lose even the pretext of democracy and freedom.”

“Perhaps, but that time has not yet arrived, and until it does, there are many like me who would prefer to work with the Chancellor instead of against him,” Padmé said firmly. “Besides, I know of your treaties with the Trade Federation, the Commerce Guilds and the others, Count Dooku. What is happening here is not government that has been bought out by business, it’s business becoming government! I will not forsake all that I have honoured and worked for, and betray the Republic.”

And you seem very eager to execute Obi-Wan, an indignant voice whispered inside her. That is not something that would happen in the Republic.

“Then you will betray your Jedi friends?” Dooku asked, almost as though he had read her mind. “Without your cooperation, I can do nothing to stop their execution.”

“And in that statement lies the truth of your proposed improvement,” Padmé snapped, unable to hide the irritation that crept into her voice. Irritation that was masking fear, and a deeper anger, and most of all an incredible sadness. Obi-Wan … oh, Obi-Wan, what have I done? I have done my duty, just as you would have wanted. But it will cost you. You’ll pay with your life.

But will I?

“And what about me?” she asked, her tone instantly smooth again. “Am I to be executed also?”

“I wouldn’t think of such an offense,” Dooku said, smirking slightly. “But there are individuals who have a strong interest in your demise, m’lady. It has nothing to do with politics, I’m afraid. It’s purely personal, and they have already paid great sums to have you assassinated. I’m sure they will push hard to have you included in the executions. I’m sorry, but if you are not going to cooperate, I must turn you over to the Geonosians for justice. Without your cooperation, I’ve done all I can for you.”

“Justice,” Padmé muttered disgustedly. It might pass for justice on some worlds, but I can never see it that way, she thought.

She refused to say anything more, and when a few moments of silence had passed Dooku scowled and ordered them to be taken away.

***

After a mock trial in which Padmé and Anakin were convicted of crimes against Geonosis and sentenced to be executed, the pair found themselves chained inside a small stone cart on a track leading to a gigantic arena. Geonosians were positioned around the cart as guards, but there was no need – neither Padmé nor Anakin had any weapons that they could have used to escape. Padmé’s blaster and cartridges were taken when she was captured, and Anakin’s lightsaber had been cut in half by one of the droid-making machines in the factory.

Padmé stood like a statue in the cart, thoughts speeding through her mind. The rescue had definitely been a foolish idea, but she couldn’t help the sense that she was somehow closer to Obi-Wan than she had been since they landed on Geonosis. There was no sign of him anywhere, yet they were close. She could feel him.

It was just a shame that they would be executed before they could say a word to each other.

Executed … the word sounded so cruel. Killed before she accomplished anything more in the Senate, before she voted against the Military Creation Act, before she visited her parents or nieces or Sola again … before she got married or had children … before she saw Obi-Wan … how could they do this?

“Don’t be afraid,” said Anakin softly.

Padmé turned to him, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I’m not afraid to die,” she whispered. “Dying for a cause I believe in is how I hoped I would go … I’m just sad that there are so many things I didn’t do. So many regrets.”

“Like how …” Anakin took a deep breath and seemed to be steeling himself to say something. “Like how you never got to fall in love.”

“Oh, I’ve fallen in love all right,” Padmé said bitterly. “A lot of good that will do me now.”

“Padmé, what if we do get out of this?” he asked. “What if by some crazy, amazing coincidence we actually manage to survive. What then? You could still live your life. But live it the way you want to instead of how you’re supposed to.”

“Ani, it’s more complicated than that,” insisted Padmé. “I can’t give up being a Senator or all that I’ve worked for just because I’ve had a near-death experience. Nor would I want to. I love my life. I love everything about my life.”

“No, I don’t mean give it up like that. I mean … add things to it. People. Like a husband. A – a family.”

“Anakin, I –”

“Remember when you and Qui-Gon and Jar-Jar came to Watto’s shop?” he barged on. “I took one look at you and I knew, knew in that moment, that someday I would marry you and we would have kids together. I was nine, I didn’t even know what half of it meant, but I know now it was the Force showing me a vision of the future. Don’t you see, Padmé? It’s your destiny!”

Padmé blinked. For a moment she had no idea how to respond. “Ani, I really don’t know if it is,” she said finally. “I’m not a Jedi, but … isn’t it more likely that you were being shown just one possible future, out of the dozens that must have existed? When you told me you were going to marry me we had only known each other for about five minutes. Qui-Gon could very well have walked out of that shop with the hyperdrive parts and I never would have seen you again.”

“But – but – that’s not the way these things work!” Anakin persisted. “I know what this vision was telling me. It was telling me my destiny. Yours, too. I think –”

He broke off as the cart suddenly lurched forward on its tracks and began moving towards the arena.

“Anakin, please,” Padmé said, feeling a lump constricting her throat. “You decided that you weren’t going to fall in love with me, remember?”

“I can’t help it, Padmé!” was his fervent response. “I need you. You keep me calm, centred, focused! I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you to …”

His voice trailed off as he realized Padmé was no longer facing him. Her gaze was fixed instead on three poles in the centre of the arena. Obi-Wan was chained to one of the poles, watching their approach. And – was it Padmé’s imagination or could she read something like … relief on Obi-Wan’s face?

He’s probably just happy to see Anakin and I in one piece, she told herself.

She turned her attention to the two poles next to Obi-Wan. It didn’t take a telepath to surmise what was to happen: she and Anakin would be chained or tied to those poles and whatever horror awaiting them would be unleashed while they stood defenseless. Rather boring for the audience. I think I know a way to at least give it its money’s worth.

As she was pulled roughly from the cart and shoved over to a pole by two Geonosians, Padmé carefully kept her shackled hands near her waist, using them to hide her fingers fumbling in her equipment belt. At last she located a small wire and on the pretext of brushing a strand of hair back from her face, she stuffed the wire in her mouth. She then allowed herself to be chained up, listening to the conversation between Obi-Wan and Anakin.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten my message,” Obi-Wan was saying as he watched a Geonosian drape Anakin’s chains over the pole.

“I retransmitted it just as you requested, Master,” Anakin replied. “Then we decided to come and rescue you.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Good job!”

Padmé glanced around to be sure no guards were watching, then slipped the wire out of her mouth and began to pick at the lock securing her cuffs to the chain. It was a simple enough device, and it popped free after a few minutes of experimentation. Quickly she grabbed the end of the chain and began hauling herself up the side of the pole. Seconds later she crawled up and over the side and heard Anakin mutter, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Padmé spared a look over her shoulder at the arena and saw three gigantic, nightmarish creatures approaching. A green insectoid acklay that walked on six pointed claws was tottering towards Obi-Wan’s pole and a red four-legged reek plodded towards Anakin. A third monster with bristling fur and a mouth wide enough to swallow a human body in one gulp headed in her direction.

“Just relax and concentrate!” Obi-Wan said.

“What about Padmé?”

Obi-Wan looked up at her and Padmé smiled reassuringly. “She seems to be on top of things,” he noted.

She barely had time to chuckle before the monster – which she heard someone in the crowd refer to as a nexu – had reached her pole. Woman and beast eyed each other for a few seconds. Then, in the same instant, both acted.

The nexu sprang up the pole and Padmé, realizing immediately what it was going to do, spun around. Next moment a searing pain ripped through her, but the last-minute turn had served its intended purpose: the nexu’s razor-sharp claws missed her stomach and chest area, sparing her vital organs. There were four deep slashes in her back, which felt as though it was on fire, but they would heal with proper treatment. As quickly as she could Padmé turned around and whipped the monster across the face with her chain. It slid halfway down in its surprise.

While it was distracted, she then tossed the free end of the chain over the pole, grasped it firmly and leapt away. Her equilibrium carried her around in a circle to kick the creature directly in the stomach. This time it fell completely off the pole and stayed down. She sighed, temporarily relieved, and climbed back up to perch on the top.

Padmé continued to pick at her shackles while she waited for the nexu to regain consciousness, gazing around at the arena as she did so to see what had become of her friends. She was impressed but not really surprised to see that Anakin seemed to have tamed the reek and was riding it through the arena. And Obi-Wan … her breath caught. He had stolen a spear from one of the Geonosian guards and was attempting to fend off the acklay without much success.

He won’t last much longer with his hands shackled, she thought, and had a sudden idea.

“Anakin!” Padmé called. “Over here!”

Anakin brought the reek over to her pole, goring the nexu to death in the process. He nodded to show he understood her intentions. “Jump!”

Padmé did just that, landing neatly behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. She felt him tense for a moment at her touch, but next second thought she must have imagined it because he flicked the reek’s reins nonchalantly and made it gallop towards Obi-Wan and the acklay. Padmé held out a hand and Obi-Wan hopped aboard.

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan panted.

She allowed her hand to brush his leg for the briefest of brief moments – to make sure he was secure, she told herself – and then had to fight for control as she felt his hands slide around her waist. In a different situation, Padmé would have found that touch unspeakably erotic. As it was she took a sharp, uneven breath and resisted the urge to clasp his hands and move them lower. This was not the time.

Later, she promised herself. If we make it out of this.

In the years to come when Padmé looked back on Geonosis, she often found it difficult to remember what events had occurred next, and in which order. The memories presented themselves in a series of flashes, like a speeded-up holovid. Droidekas uncoiled in front of them … lightsabers ignited all over the arena, carried by Jedi who had come to rescue them … all hell broke loose as an army of battle droids marched in and the Jedi were forced to engage … she, in the middle of all this, using a stolen droid blaster to pick off the enemy’s mechanical soldiers … the surviving agents of the Republic being backed into a small circle as gradually the army proved too much for even the Jedi.

It was at this point that her memory became clear again. Dirty, exhausted and soaked with sweat, Padmé stood in the centre of the circle next to Anakin and Obi-Wan. She had a sense that the situation was coming to a close, for better or worse, and that in a few moments they would be dead or something miraculous would happen. She didn’t reflect on the fact that she, Obi-Wan and Anakin had survived their “execution”; there hadn’t been time for that. As with everything in the arena, thoughts and emotions were shoved aside by adrenaline to be dealt with later.

Later. Later. Later. It was becoming a mantra.

Padmé leveled her blaster at the approaching super battle droids, ready to go down fighting. Her finger was on the trigger when suddenly the droids folded their weapon arms and were silent. The little group looked around, puzzled by the abrupt show of mercy.

“Master Windu, you have fought gallantly,” announced a formally-accented voice. Everyone turned to see Count Dooku gazing down at them from the dignitaries’ box, a small smile on his face as though he were quite enjoying the affair. Which, Padmé reminded herself, he probably was.

“Worthy of recognition in the archives of the Jedi Order,” continued Dooku. “But now, it is finished. Surrender, and your lives will be spared.”

“We are not hostages to be bartered, Dooku,” Mace Windu snapped immediately.

Padmé jumped slightly as a sweaty hand found hers. Turning to her left, she had to work hard to suppress further surprise as she saw that the hand belonged to Obi-Wan. He met her gaze steadily and with a gentle smile. She allowed her hand to slip into his, and he squeezed it in comfort.

“Then, I’m sorry, old friend,” Dooku replied, not sounding very sorry at all.

He raised his arm, no doubt to order the battle droids to resume their firing. Padmé gave Obi-Wan’s hand one final squeeze in return and gripped her blaster with both hands, moving her finger towards the trigger. But … something wasn’t quite right. There was a distinct roar coming from – above their heads? Confused, she looked up and gasped.

Dozens of gunships were moving into position over the top of the arena, bearing white-armoured humans and, most puzzling of all, Master Yoda. Padmé didn’t waste time trying to solve the mystery. Instead she exclaimed, “Look!”

All eyes glanced upwards and then abruptly back to the battle on the ground as the droids opened fire. But this time the Jedi and Padmé had a means of escape, for the gunships were landing and creating cover fire as Master Yoda beckoned everyone to climb aboard. Anakin and Obi-Wan spun their borrowed lightsabers furiously to provide cover for Padmé so she could clamber aboard one of the gunships. As soon as they were all aboard, it lifted off.

Padmé thought before that the battle was confined to the arena, but as the ship flew higher she realized what a foolish assumption that had been. Thousands of the mysterious white-armoured soldiers were setting up encampments and making use of various items of weaponry to hold the line against the droids that the Separatists were deploying. But where in the galaxy had they all come from?

A loud explosion sounded behind them and as the dust cleared, a small figure on a speeder bike became visible, fleeing the battle. “It’s Dooku!” Anakin exclaimed. “Shoot him down!”

“We’re out of rockets, sir,” the pilot responded.

Clones! thought Padmé. They’re all clones!

“Follow him!” Anakin snapped.

The pilot obeyed instantly, without regard for the fact that blasterfire and flak was exploding all around them, causing the ship to rock backwards and forwards. “You’re going to need some help!” Padmé exclaimed.

“No, there’s no time!” Obi-Wan shouted back. “Anakin and I can handle this!”

Padmé bit down on her sudden fright. True, it would be two against one, but she had seen enough of Dooku to suspect that wouldn’t matter. Obi-Wan is a Jedi, she reminded herself. It’s his duty. And if they catch Dooku they can end the war right now, before it gets worse. So she stifled her fear and filed it away, as she had with so many other emotions, to be dealt with later.

The two fighters flanking Dooku’s speeder banked suddenly away and were behind the gunship and firing before the clone pilot could take any evasive action. The ship bucked violently as it was hit. Padmé barely paid attention; her mind was whirling with ideas to help Anakin and Obi-Wan. Dooku probably has a secret hangar somewhere. Once he gets there I can use the gunship’s radio to signal more clone troopers and Jedi who can come and help. But we need the coordinates first.

She was completely focused on her plan, and it was that, perhaps, which caused her to hang on less securely than she should. The gunship was rocked so violently that it was flipped nearly on its end. Anakin and Obi-Wan, their Jedi reflexes trained on the present, were able to stay inside with a few quick scrambles and the assistance of the Force. But Padmé lost her footing and tumbled out.

She plummeted towards the ground and was only dimly aware of hitting it, hard … rolling over and over, all of her body stinging and smarting with the impact … and then everything went black.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Interludes

Padmé awoke slowly.

Her head was pounding. Her muscles were screaming. Her back was prickling. Her joints, her skin, even her hair hurt. She remembered the time that Ryoo had fallen down a grassy slope and ended up covered in cuts and bruises. Her niece had come up with the memorable line: “Mama, I have a headache in my whole body.”

Yes, Padmé thought, that’s how I feel.

At least her bed was soft. She cracked open her eyes and looked around. The room was large, if a bit plain, and had all the necessities. A bed with fluffy pillows and warm blankets, a sitting room with armchairs and an end table, a fully-equipped refresher, large windows that looked out into space beyond, plenty of lighting. Padmé was somewhat surprised at the luxury of the room, but she supposed that hospital ships must be decorated to make their occupants feel comfortable while they were recovering.

She sighed as she remembered the final stages of the battle. A clone trooper had come to make sure she was all right, and she had declined treatment for her injuries in favour of getting to Dooku’s hangar as quickly as possible and making sure Obi-Wan and Anakin were all right. They were not. Both were severely hurt, and if Master Yoda had not arrived when he did, they would have been killed.

Padmé couldn’t recollect much else of what had gone on in the hangar. She knew she had run to her friends to examine them and then felt the world spinning around her; seconds later she collapsed. She woke in a hospital bed and was told she was being treated for severe lacerations, several sprains and exhaustion. The medical technicians gave her a sedative to take and released her as soon as they were satisfied that the lesions on her back were closed. She was then assigned a room, where she had taken the medicine and collapsed onto her bed.

She didn’t know how long she’d slept. All she wanted was to get out of her dirty clothes and to soothe some of her aches and pains with a nice, hot shower.

The water felt soothing and oddly refreshing against her skin. Padmé stood, letting the spray cascade down her back, while she mulled over recent events. She had survived the arena. So what did this mean for her life? Did it mean things would change? Anakin’s words came back to her again, as clearly as if he’d just said them. What if by some crazy, amazing coincidence we actually manage to survive … You could still live your life, but live it the way you want to instead of how you’re supposed to.

Could she?

Could she, really?

She had survived, as had Obi-Wan and Anakin. Would there be a war now? Would the rescue mission have an impact on where things stood in the Senate? Where had the clone army come from? What was the role of the Jedi Order in all this? Did Obi-Wan love her?

In the past Padmé would have chastised herself for asking the last question, but that now seemed pointless. I can’t keep this inside. Anakin was right. My life is going to have to change.

Padmé rinsed herself and shut off the spray, climbing out of the shower. Her clothes, the suitcases she had so carefully packed to journey to Naboo with Anakin, were all back at the Varykino resort. She found herself wishing she’d packed at least a nightgown, and in the very next instant nearly laughed out loud. Why would she have brought a nightgown to Tatooine? To Geonosis?

She had a sudden image of herself fighting battle droids and droidekas in a long flowy nightdress and couldn’t suppress a snicker.

There was a dressing gown in the closet. Not pretty or feminine like she was accustomed to, but it was the right size, at least, and warm. Padmé slipped it on and fastened the soft belt around her middle. She had a feeling that the medical technicians would want her to take the rest of her sedative and go back to sleep, and really, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do more.

The door chimed.

Padmé lowered the pill she had been just about to put in her mouth and set her glass of water on the bedside table. Who’s there? If it’s Anakin, I think I’ll be blunt and say I was just about to go to bed. Really, there’s a limit.

She crossed the room and peered through the lens to see who was ringing. Obi-Wan stood patiently on the other side.

Padmé nearly collapsed in shock. She pinched herself hard on the leg. It hurt a lot, which seemed to rule out the possibility that she was having a very bizarre dream. Padmé slid open the door.

The two faced each other for all of ten seconds, then were wrapped in one another’s arms.

“Obi-Wan, what are you doing here?” Padmé cried into his tunic. “You’re hurt, you should be in the medical centre!”

He was rubbing her back and making soothing noises. “Nothing a little bacta didn’t cure. They released me about an hour ago. Padmé, I – I had to see you. Had to talk to you.”

She blinked and looked up at him. “What? What are you saying?”

“I read your letter,” Obi-Wan began.

“Really? Oh, you didn’t have to, I was just –”

Her courage was failing her. She had meant to confess, but couldn’t.

“I read your letter,” he said again, “and it made me realize … it made me realize that there are some things I should have said to you a very long time ago.”

Padmé held her breath.

“I love you,” Obi-Wan said simply.

She had imagined this moment so many times over the last few years. Imagined what she would say, and where they would be, and whether she should kiss him or just leap into his arms. But now that the moment had arrived, she could barely wrap her mind around the concept that the man she had loved for so many years returned her feelings.

“You – you do?” Padmé stammered.

“I didn’t know until you stopped writing to me two years ago.” He stroked her cheek softly. “I felt awful, for months on end. And then one day I was meditating and I realized that I was grieving the loss of our friendship and … and the loss of love.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered miserably. “I never wanted to stop. I knew it would cause you pain but – you were a Jedi, and my parents wanted me to settle down and marry someone supposedly sensible, and the Code doesn’t allow Jedi to love –”

“That’s right,” Obi-Wan said heavily. “It doesn’t. Attachment is a path to the dark side.”

“So where does that leave us?” Padmé asked. “Attachment leads to the dark side, but we love each other. What are we supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Padmé blinked. “You – you don’t know?” she choked out.

“Of course I don’t know!” Obi-Wan said a little irritably. “I don’t have the answers to everything, Padmé. I wish I did! But – but I’m not allowed to be in a relationship. You know that as well as I do.”

“Then why admit it in the first place?” she demanded, pulling out of his arms. “Why come here and say, ‘Hey Padmé, guess what, I love you, but we can’t be together so too bad, so sad! See you later!’ Why, Obi-Wan? It would have been better if we just kept everything inside.”

“You know you don’t believe that –” Obi-Wan began, but Padmé cut him off.

“I honestly don’t know what to believe anymore! It’s not like I expected my letter to change anything, but I at least wanted you to focus on more than the Code! You come in here and you tell me that you love me, but then you start parroting the Jedi Code. I’m a person, not a feeling that can be just – meditated away!” Padmé’s chest was heaving with emotion.

“Padmé, I can’t help it!” said Obi-Wan desperately. “Being a Jedi is part of who I am. Just like being a Senator is part of who you are. You told me in your letter that you would never ask me to give up the Jedi Order for you, but from where I’m sitting it seems as though that’s exactly what you’re asking!”

“Well here’s a tip: don’t tell someone you love them and in the very next breath start reciting regulations about that love not being allowed,” Padmé practically snarled.

Obi-Wan snorted. “Hark who’s talking! As if you don’t quote regulations every single day, as part of your job!”

“That’s beside the point and you know it!”

“No, that is the point!” Obi-Wan was breathing heavily and seemed dangerously close to becoming angry. “You act as though I can look very objectively at the part of me that’s a Jedi, that I can remove it and turn it over and examine it. But I can’t. Think about how difficult it would be for you to cut off your leg or your arm. You couldn’t do it, because it’s a part of you! It’s the same with my Jedi training. I’ve been raised to be a Jedi ever since I was a four-month-old infant. The Jedi are the only family I’ve ever known. Imagine yourself abandoning all your family and mentors have taught you. You couldn’t do it! And neither can I.”

Padmé slumped down onto the bed, head in her hands. “Then why are you even here?” she asked in a hollow, dead voice. “Why did you even come here if you’re just going to disappoint me? I didn’t expect you to give up your Jedi training for me, but I’d be lying if I said that some small part of me didn’t hope that we could be together. I love you, Obi-Wan. I’ve waited so long. Now, I thought we finally had our moment. But I guess not. I guess I’ll have to go back to being celibate, to fend off my parents’ attempts to set me up with eligible Naboo bachelors. I can’t – I can’t do this, Obi-Wan. I can’t build up all my hope and be constantly let down like this.”

She began to sob quietly.

Obi-Wan bit his lip and made to sit down next to her. “Padmé, you know it’s impossible.”

Padmé scowled and turned her back. “Please leave.”

“Padmé, no, we can’t end like this, I don’t want us to stop being friends on this note,” he pleaded.

“Do I have to call security on you? Because I can and I will.”

“I won’t let you do that,” Obi-Wan said softly. “You know as well as I do that I can overpower whatever forces arrive inside of a minute. I’m staying here until we work this out, one way or the other.”

Padmé was silent for a few moments, then heaved an enormous sigh as though he had just asked her to clean the entire space cruiser from top to bottom. “Promise me you’ll leave after we – how did you put it – work things out?”

“If you still wish me to leave after we’ve spoken to one another in a civil manner, then of course I will do so.”

It cost him nearly everything he had to say it, but he knew it was what she needed to hear.

For several more minutes, she didn’t speak. Then, “All right,” Padmé said finally.

She turned slowly, looking him directly in the eye. Obi-Wan remained silent, giving her some time to gather her thoughts. At last she said, “Obi-Wan, I know you can’t separate being a Jedi from who you are. I understand that. I wouldn’t have written it in my letter if I didn’t. But what you said just now hurt me. It’s like … sometimes the Jedi don’t understand what it’s like just to be a civilian. We don’t follow the Jedi Code. We don’t fall in love and automatically think, ‘Well, I’d better suppress this because it could lead to the Dark Side.’ I don’t know what it’s like on every planet in the galaxy, but on Naboo we’re raised to treat the family unit with the utmost respect. Every Nubian is expected to marry once they are of age, have children and settle down. I can no more reject those values than you can reject your Jedi teachings.”

Gently Obi-Wan clasped her hand. “I didn’t say you had to.”

“Neither did I,” Padmé said pointedly.

There was a long pause.

“Padmé … I’m sorry,” whispered Obi-Wan. He was looking at his feet and suddenly could not remember ever being more embarrassed.

“I’m sorry too,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

“No, I shouldn’t have started quoting the Jedi Code.”

“And I shouldn’t have tried to kick you out.”

“And I shouldn’t have … well … erm …” Obi-Wan tried desperately to come up with something else he shouldn’t have done. He glanced up at Padmé and saw that she was struggling to hold back her giggles.

That was it for him. He let out a snort of laughter, doubling over with mirth. The whole argument now seemed so silly – why HAD he started quoting the Jedi Code, anyway? How could he have implied that her family’s traditions didn’t matter? Why did he expect her to automatically see matters from his point of view, even though she hadn’t been raised as a Jedi and could not possibly have a complete picture of what it was like?

The last thought sobered him quickly.

“I really am sorry,” Obi-Wan repeated, squeezing Padmé’s hand. “What I said was wrong. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive.”

She squeezed back. “I know you didn’t. People argue, it’s just the way of the galaxy. And sometimes – sometimes a certain amount of conflict is healthy. I imagine we’re both feeling a bit guilty.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “Guilty?”

“Yes. You carry a lot of guilt around with you; I can tell,” said Padmé. “But now … you’re feeling guilty because you got captured. Because when the execution began, you couldn’t protect me. Because of all the Jedi who died today. And me, well, I’ve got nothing on my conscience except starting this whole war in the first place!”

“Padmé, no,” Obi-Wan said immediately. “The war isn’t your fault. It would have happened anyway whether you and Anakin had come to rescue me or not. As a galaxy we’ve been heading towards this point for years. I suppose now the time has simply come. Events were such that it would have exploded into a war at one time or another. Whether in a week, a month or a year’s time, we would be at war anyway.”

“That’s not very comforting,” Padmé admitted. “You make it sound like all my efforts in the Senate were in vain.”

Obi-Wan blushed. “No, no, no, that’s not what I meant at all!” he said quickly. “Destiny influences all of our futures to a degree, but it certainly doesn’t mean they’re predetermined. There are dozens, perhaps hundreds, of possible paths available to us at any given moment. The future is as much influenced by our choices as it is by the Force, or destiny, or whatever you personally choose to believe in.”

She nodded, mollified. “That’s essentially what I told Anakin.”

“You were talking to Anakin about destiny?”

“Well, yes. Sort of. He – we were reminiscing about the past, when we first met, and he was reminding me that he once asked me to marry him.”

“He what?” Obi-Wan blurted.

“Yes.” Padmé chuckled. “Of course, he was nine years old at the time, and I fourteen, so I didn’t set much store by it at all. You know how children are sometimes. Anyway, during our journey we spoke about that, and he asked me if I still believed that would happen.”

“And what did you say?” Obi-Wan was leaning forwards almost nervously.

“Well of course I told him it was ridiculous!” (Obi-Wan relaxed visibly at these words.) “Not in those exact words, obviously – I was a lot more polite – but that was the gist of it,” Padmé continued. “I told him that there must be lots of possible futures, and the one in which he saw us getting married was just one of them. It might or might not happen. And obviously it can’t, because I’m not in love with him and because he’s a Jedi. Marriage is out of the question, as you so succinctly put it a few moments ago.” She winked.

“Very funny,” Obi-Wan muttered. “I suppose you won’t hesitate to remind me of that in future.”

Padmé grinned. “No, actually, I won’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re mean, do you know that?”

“Me? Mean?” Padmé batted her eyelashes innocently. “I’m an angel. Ask anyone.”

“And yet, you’re enjoying this!”

“In a word, yes,” she smirked.

“You are impossible!”

He swatted her across the arm, and she retaliated by pushing him gently down onto the bed. They were soon having a full-blown tickle fight, both laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

“Truce! Truce!” Padmé gasped, unable to stand it any longer. “I’m mean! I admit it!”

“Aha! A confession!” Obi-Wan exclaimed. “I knew you had a weakness!”

“Maybe my weakness is being reunited with my best friend,” she said softly.

“Maybe mine is as well.”

Obi-Wan could not help noticing that her face was inches from his. This was the first time they had been so close in so long. He could feel every inch of her – her soft, supple breasts pushing into his chest, her legs, so very nearly entwined with his, her arms, pinned at her sides by his tickle attack … and the soft coils of her brown hair, her lips full and red.

He was leaning down … her chocolate-brown eyes were coming closer and closer … and suddenly he could feel her lips on his. She was responding, the kiss became more passionate, and there was nothing but that touch, barely an inch of skin that somehow meant so much.

It was nothing like he had imagined. It was better.

Padmé broke the kiss first, her eyes full of a mixture of concern and excitement. “Obi-Wan … what’s the point?” she whispered.

He was breathing heavily, already aroused by the passion between them. “The point?”

“Of this. If we can’t be in love … if the Code forbids it … why are we doing this?”

Obi-Wan shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. It just – happened.”

“You allowed it to happen.” It was a statement, not a question.

She spoke the truth, though he didn’t want to admit it. “I … I guess I did. I suppose …” Obi-Wan paused, searching his own feelings anxiously. “I suppose I just want to be normal.”

“Normal?” Padmé gave him a quizzical look.

“Yes, normal.” His voice became louder, more animated, as the words came to him. “I’ve never been allowed to have a relationship. I’ve thought about it many times, fantasized even. And after what you said earlier about Naboo’s traditions, I realized that I’m envious. Envious of the fact that you have the option of marrying and having children. I never wanted that until … until I saw you again on Coruscant.” Obi-Wan could feel himself blushing, and suddenly he was doing something he had never done before. Pleading. “Padmé, I know what I said before, I know I quoted the Code and said we could never be together, I know all that, but – please, just one night … before we get to Coruscant … no regrets, you’ll owe me nothing, I just … I just want to be normal. For one night.”

“Obi-Wan …” She sighed deeply. “Are you sure? You might – well, find it harder to let me go, if we spend the night together.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help it. He kissed her again, though quickly, and rolled over to lie beside her. “Well, what about you? Won’t you find it harder as well?”

“If I let you stay, it will be because I love you,” Padmé replied. “And if, after tonight, we decide we should only be friends, I’ll let you go because I love you. I’ve spent the past two years not writing to you, not speaking, cutting off all contact. I think I can survive. I’m just worried about you. I want to do what’s best for you.”

“Padmé, I’m a Jedi.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “Meditating away dangerous thoughts and feelings – anger, hatred, sorrow, love – it’s what I do. And I’ve been doing it for thirty-odd years so I’d like to think I’m rather good at it. You, on the other hand … well, you said it yourself, you’re a civilian, you’re not used to letting go of your emotions like that. I don’t want to do this if you won’t be comfortable with it.”

Padmé’s hand snaked between them and clasped his. “Sometimes being in love with someone means doing something crazy once in awhile.” She leaned towards him, whispering so that her next words tickled his ear. “I think this is one of those times.”

Obi-Wan had to consciously remember to breathe. His senses were full of her – her face, once again just inches from his, the smell of the shampoo she must recently have used, the feel of her breath and the touch of her skin on his hand. He had pulled her down into another long kiss before he could even think about it.

This one was less sudden, more passionate, slower. Obi-Wan’s arms found Padmé’s shoulders and began inching her dressing gown down over her shoulders. They seemed to have reached a point of no return: they would be intimate that night, whatever the consequences for their future lives.

Padmé rolled onto her back as the gown fell away, with Obi-Wan now on top of her. “You – you’re not wearing any, er …” He blushed lightly.

“Underpants?” Padmé supplied. “I wasn’t …” Kiss. “… wasn’t expecting you to visit, if that’s what you mean.” Kiss. “I mean, do you wear underpants to bed?”

“Well, sometimes, but usually – wait a moment, when did this become a discussion about my underpants?”

Padmé giggled, and Obi-Wan realized he’d rarely heard so much happiness in one little laugh. “You brought it up!”

“I did n – oh, forget it.” He was laughing too.

“Not fair, I’m more naked than you are,” was her response, and he felt his belt being loosened and then falling away completely. A small gasp escaped his lips as her hand brushed his crotch, and he abruptly remembered his ministrations to himself as he’d read her last letter. This time she was here, with him … and he could explore all of her, completely.

As quickly as he could Obi-Wan rolled off her again and removed the rest of his clothing. Then, the moment they had both been waiting for, for so long … their bodies touched, skin to skin, stripped of any further professional barriers. He was Obi-Wan and she was Padmé and they could be here with each other now, an event that had been two years in the making.

Padmé drew in a sharp breath as she felt Obi-Wan moving down her neck, kissing her breasts and pausing to swirl his tongue around each of her nipples. How many nights had she lain in bed alone, bringing herself to climax with these same movements and pretending Obi-Wan was with her? How did he seem to know what areas would bring her the most pleasurable sensations – that touching that spot on her tummy would make her wet inside, that licking her breast aroused her instantly?

“You’re thinking of them,” Obi-Wan whispered, moving down past her belly button.

“What?” panted Padmé.

“Your erogenous zones. You’re thinking of them. I’m simply reading them in the Force like you would a holobook.”

“Oh – oh.” It was her turn to blush. “Well then I guess you have an unfair advantage, don’t you, Master Jedi?”

The corners of his mouth lifted and he chuckled. “I guess I do.”

He had reached the shock of dark hair at her crotch, and further need for speech was obviated by the sensations coursing through her. She moaned incoherently, arching her back to meet his gentle kisses. Sensations rolled over her in waves, and she felt her climax building … building, but not yet a reality.

“You are … amazingly … beautiful,” Obi-Wan whispered against her entrance.

She gasped again as he slid his index finger into her, using his thumb to rub her clit in a circle. Padmé pressed against his hand, sliding up and down, no longer able to speak. She focused her gaze on his eyes, wanting to stare into those deep blue depths as she came.

With a final, loud gasp, the wave broke, exploding pinwheels behind her eyes in a burst of razor-sharp awareness of self. She was one with her body as the orgasm washed over her, and it was wonderful. “Obi-Wan …” she whispered, surprised at how soft her voice had become, how it dripped with passion.

Padmé collapsed back onto the bed, a contented smile upon her face. “Thank … thank you. That was … amazing.”

He grinned, looking as aroused as she’d felt. “You don’t need to thank me. Just seeing you … seeing you like that was incredible.”

She noticed a mess on the sheets and realized he had worked simultaneously to bring himself to climax even as he was stimulating her.

“I could have done that,” Padmé said, although she didn’t feel at all confident about her ability to pleasure him as he had just done for her.

“I couldn’t wait,” Obi-Wan said simply, and in that moment he reminded her irresistibly of Anakin. They shared so many traits as Master and Padawan, so many traits of which they were not even aware …

And he was ready again, positioning himself over her, but so was she. The heat of their bodies mingling together was enough to set her off again; she could feel his stiffening cock against her thighs as they leaned into one another for a breathtaking series of kisses. Padmé broke contact only when her need for oxygen overwhelmed her need for him. She stroked his face, trying to get her breath back, feeling his beard tickling her fingers.

“This,” Padmé said softly, taking several deep breaths to prepare herself, “will be my first time. I’ve never been with anyone else. So I – I’m a little nervous.”

“I’ll be very careful and very gentle,” Obi-Wan promised as he leaned down to kiss her again. “If it hurts too much or if you’d like to stop, just tell me.”

“I love you,” she said, and she fervently meant it.

They began once more, at first with soft kisses and then, as both became more aroused, rubbing against each other and trailing hands down chests and backs and breasts. Obi-Wan ached with need, his cock weeping with pre-cum, but he had promised her he would take it slowly, and so he did.

Then the moment came.

Obi-Wan nibbled and kissed at a spot on Padmé’s neck he knew to be particularly sensitive, all the while sliding his length into her, inch by inch. She gasped, face clenching momentarily, and he stopped in sudden fear.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Really. It just – it just hurts a little the first time, that’s all. Every woman experiences this, it’s like … it’s like my gift to you, Obi-Wan. The last gift I can give you.”

The pain lessened slightly and she was able to look upon the event with a small amount of pleasure, raising her hips slightly to meet his thrusts. Seeing her relax, Obi-Wan sped up, kissing down her neck and moving towards her breasts. She stroked his hair, unable to focus on anything but him, suddenly delighting in the sensations coursing through her. This was … this was better than when he had pleasured her before, they were part of each other in a way that they had never been.

“You are so beautiful,” whispered Obi-Wan.

He could not believe that his imaginings of years past were coming true. How many times had he lain in bed at night, grasping his cock while visualizing it engulfed in Padmé’s warmth? And now the moment had arrived, and though he had not bargained on being so scared of hurting her, all the feelings he had envisioned were present. His length, sliding in and out … her gasps and moans of pleasure … arousal so heightened that he needed to exercise a great deal of self-control to keep from arriving right then.

Padmé gasped again, pulling him down to her chest, stroking his hair. “Obi-Wan … faster …” she panted.

He obliged, almost relaxing in her arms, focusing entirely on the sound of her breath and her voice murmuring over and over. “Not going to last,” he told her, trying to sound apologetic.

But she barely heard him, because she could feel her own climax approaching and then without warning it burst, burst over her body and lifted her up, and she was back on top of the galaxy. Here, with her Obi-Wan, able to forget about pain and war and Geonosis and Anakin …

Obi-Wan came moments later, spasming as he spilled his seed inside her. She held onto him like an anchor, a lifeline.

“Thank you,” were the only words she could squeeze out.

“No, thank you.” His eyes were closed, and Padmé knew he was trying to capture every aspect of the moment for memory. “You … you helped me be normal. I can’t tell you how much … how much that means.”

She bit her lip as the knowledge that this moment was finite, that there could not be many more like it, broke over her. “If only we were different,” she mused. “If only we had different jobs, different lives …”

“But then we wouldn’t be who we are.” He pulled out as gently as he had gone in.

Padmé smiled up at him, unwilling to relinquish her grasp just yet. “Please don’t go,” she whispered. Her eyes had filled with tears.

Obi-Wan’s stomach clenched, even as the pleasant afterglow of his orgasm continued to wash over him. He hated knowing that he would have to leave her, whether in five minutes or in five hours, hated knowing that they could not do this again, that he would soon be going off to war.

“I have to,” he replied.

“Not yet,” Padmé begged. “You said you wanted to be normal for one night. So be normal. Sleep with me. Don’t just … use me like this. If we make love once and then you leave, you might as well have gone to one of those pleasure clubs.”

Her tone held no malice, but he felt guilty nonetheless. Wasn’t the very idea of the pleasure clubs repugnant to him? Hadn’t he noted in his personal record how short-sighted it was of the Jedi Code to permit usage of the clubs and yet forbid romantic love?

And hadn’t he just finished saying that he wanted to be normal, to have an experience like those of so many other beings throughout the galaxy?

Briefly Obi-Wan thought of Anakin, of the other members of the Jedi Council aboard the troop ship, of what his absence might mean. He weighed those factors against Padmé’s dignity, against his personal beliefs, and found that there was no contest at all.

“I’ll stay for as long as possible,” he said softly.

Padmé’s smile was radiant as she pulled him down for another kiss. “I love you,” she murmured against his lips.

“I know,” he said softly.

They were soon aroused again, and Padmé gazed up at Obi-Wan with fire smoldering in her eyes. “Please … I want you inside me,” she whispered.

Ordinarily she would have been embarrassed to be heard asking for it, asking for him to make love to her, but somehow it could not have seemed more appropriate at the moment. She felt so comfortable with Obi-Wan. It was a feeling she could neither understand nor articulate, but it had always been so.

He obliged, running his hands over her shoulders and trailing down to her breasts, massaging her nipples to elicit gasps from Padmé. She moaned then and lifted her hips from the bed, feeling his length slide once more inside her.

And once more they moved as one, Obi-Wan kissing her almost fiercely, yet gently, and Padmé wrapping her arms around his shoulders and neck, stroking his hair, both barely able to breathe.

Their climaxes came simultaneously, exploding with white-hot light as each moaned the other’s name.

Obi-Wan did not count the number of times they made love that night. He did not need to. A number could not have expressed the fact that this was simultaneously the most wonderful and the most horrible night of his life. Wonderful because he could finally spend it with Padmé, but terrible because it would be the last. The one consolation he could draw from the experience was that on the long nights away from Coruscant, he would have this night to remember and cherish.

It wouldn’t be enough, but it would be something.

He gazed downwards, watching Padmé’s eyes flutter and slowly close as she fell asleep using his chest as a pillow. Stroked her hair softly.

No, it would not be nearly enough.

***

“Well,” Padmé began.

“Well,” echoed Obi-Wan.

It was the next morning. Both had tried to put off the inevitable farewell, but Obi-Wan’s comlink had sounded shortly after they woke up with a request for him to appear before the Jedi Council. Padmé had agreed that it would most likely be difficult for them to see one another in any capacity other than that of friendship during the rest of the trip, so this had to be goodbye.

“I guess, um, I guess this is it.” She gazed down at her feet, voicing the obvious.

“Yes it is.” Obi-Wan lifted her chin to gaze into her eyes. “I just wanted to thank you again. For … for allowing me to spend the night, and for caring, and – well, quite frankly, for not kicking me out. Like you said you were going to.”

“What?” Padmé laughed. “When did I say that?”

“When I first came in. I believe your exact words were, ‘Do I have to call security on you?’”

She blushed. “I’m sorry, I – I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.”

“Me either,” he admitted.

Padmé sighed. “Well, I guess we’d better … they’re waiting for you.”

Obi-Wan gathered up courage. “Right. Padmé, you – you mean more to me than anything, and I hate to do this. I wish there was another way.”

He kissed her softly.

She wrapped her arms around him, in a gentle hug. “I do too. And I love you. And … I will always remember this.”

They both sighed.

It was Padmé who broke away first. “All right, this is going to get depressing,” she chuckled. “Go. Go, and … I’ll see you later. I love you.”

Obi-Wan’s smile was gentle as he replied, “I know.”

They kissed again, one final, long kiss that said everything both felt they could not express in words, and then, before Padmé could tell him to stop or turn back, he pushed through the door … and was gone.

She threw herself back onto the bed and cried.

***

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
No matter how much I try to pretend it didn’t happen, my encounter with Obi-Wan two months ago still weighs heavily on my mind.

I complete my daily tasks, arguing in the Senate for restraint against the heavy-handed measures the militarists long to put in place. I attend meetings of the Loyalist Committee. But in the back of my mind, in the place where I keep my darkest thoughts, there is always the memories and the desire to have his arms around me again.

I try to forget. But now I can’t.

Now, today, this morning, things have become so much more complicated.

What possessed me to contact the medical droid? Why did I agree to take the test?

The whys don’t matter now, I suppose. What matters is the truth of it. The truth I don’t want to type, because somehow that will make it more real.

The truth? The truth is simply this.

I’m pregnant.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

The Paths We Choose

PERSONAL RECORD: OBI-WAN KENOBI  
I feel very irrational at the moment.

Anakin and I are returning to Coruscant for the first time since the Clone Wars began, and I’m surprised he hasn’t said anything about my excitement. I haven’t been able to stop smiling since we boarded the troop ship, to the point where Commander Cody asked (not entirely jokingly, mind you) whether I’d been partaking of the Wookiees’ wroshyr wine. How embarrassing.

It’s true that my mood is jubilant, moreso than it has been for – well, the past two months. Some small part of me, that I’ve tried to suppress, whispers that this is because I’ll see Padmé again. Obviously, this will only be in a capacity of friendship, but somehow this doesn’t make a difference to my overall mood. Seeing her will be enough, just as the memories of our last encounter have been sufficient to sustain me during the mission.

The mission itself went as well as could be expected, though I am growing more concerned about Anakin’s attitude. We worked mainly in concert during the fighting, and when we were separated my Padawan’s actions did nothing to assuage my worries. He repeatedly acts as though every battle won was won because of him, and insists upon regaling anyone who will listen with dramatic accounts of his actions. These days the only accommodating audience is made up of clones, but he doesn’t appear to mind. They seem to delight in his retellings, showering him with praise.

I’m not entirely sure what I should do about this. Anakin is not breaking any written rule I can think of, but it’s generally considered not very like a Jedi to brag about one’s exploits. Jedi do not revel in combat; we are in fact taught to abhor it, and employ physical measures only when diplomacy has failed. When negotiations don’t work and we must fight, we work as part of a team, unified within the Living Force. The success or failure of a campaign does not rest on one being’s shoulders alone, nor should it. Anakin seems not to have grasped this concept.

I try to think of what Qui-Gon once told me after he’d caught me showing off to a friend in sparring practice: “Padawan, when a tree creates a leaf, it does not boast as though it has achieved galactic peace. Nor should you.” I’ve always remembered that saying, and yet I don’t think it would mean much to Anakin. He deals in concrete terms, not with principles and concepts.

I shall have to meditate on this.

“Coming up on Core World perimeter defense systems,” Anakin murmured, his fingers flying across a keypad. “Transmitting deactivation coordinates … now.”

“Did you remember to input the new scramble code?” Obi-Wan asked nervously.

“Yes, Master.” Anakin all but rolled his eyes. “Why would I forget something that crucial? Besides, you’d know by now if I hadn’t – we’d be getting blasted to smithereens.” He snickered.

“This is not a laughing matter! It only takes one time, Anakin, one time, and there won’t be enough of you left to fill a Corellian ale mug! If I were –”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Anakin exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender. “No laughing. I promise!”

They sat in silence for several moments. Obi-Wan took the opportunity to double-encrypt his personal record, storing the latest entry in the special file where he had saved all notes about his encounter with Padmé. He knew Anakin wouldn’t intentionally search his datapad for personal information, but after all, it did only take one moment of carelessness for a disaster to happen. Obi-Wan did not intend to take that chance. When he thought what could happen if his Padawan discovered it … he shuddered.

“You’re awfully grouchy all of a sudden,” remarked Anakin.

“Hmm?”

“Yeah. When we got on the ship you were smiling so wide I thought your face would crack open. Now you’re biting my head off because you think I might have forgotten to input one of the codes. What’s going on?”

“A disturbance in the Force,” Obi-Wan said tersely.

He had only begun to feel it as they approached the Core Worlds, and Anakin was right: it was affecting his mood more than he cared to admit. Why? Because it has to do with Padmé, he thought, and that frightens me. It shouldn’t, but it does.

Obi-Wan couldn’t pinpoint it any more than as a vague, distressing sensation. But he got the feeling that wherever Padmé was, whatever she was doing, she was very worried about something. Something that had to do with him.

Wait a moment, why are you thinking about this now? he scolded himself. Until you’ve landed back on Coruscant, Anakin and the clones on this ship are your only priority. So focus!

He faced front, entering the copilot’s clearance for the descent into the Coruscanti atmosphere.

***

“Dormé, did you pick up the latest news feeds yet?” Padmé called wearily. “About the Scadden Report?”

“In a moment, m’lady,” her handmaiden replied. “I’m reading a different feed right now.”

Groaning, Padmé pulled herself out of her chair and stretched. “If you want something done, you’ve got to do it yourself,” she said impatiently, picking up a nearby datapad and scrolling through the files. “Which feed are you looking at?” she asked.

Dormé appeared suddenly in the doorway, holding out a small projector. “The HoloNet. I think you’ll find something to interest you … Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker are returning from the front.”

Padmé almost dropped the datapad in shock. “They – really?” she exclaimed. “Where did you read that?”

“Says so right here in this article.” Dormé smirked as she passed the projector to Padmé. “They landed on Coruscant an hour ago and gave a briefing to the press. Doesn’t he look handsome?”

“Oh, stop it,” Padmé muttered, swatting her handmaiden away. “Although …” She accessed the file on the projector and a small hologram of Obi-Wan sprang to life. He was speaking in his clipped accent about the mission, nodding and smiling at the journalists asking questions. Involuntarily, her face relaxed into a wistful grin.

“Are you going to tell him?” asked Dormé softly.

Padmé sighed. “What choice do I have? The news will get to him sooner or later whether I want it to or not, so it’s better he hears it from me. I just hope he doesn’t try to complicate things.” She ran a hand over her face and sat back in her desk chair. Standing up tired her easily these days.

“Complicate things? I’m not sure I understand.”

“Dormé, when we agreed to spend the night together, we also agreed that it would be no regrets. He just wanted to have one night where he didn’t have to be a Jedi, without consequences. This is a consequence I’m not sure I’m prepared to burden him with. I mean, what can he do? He’s a Jedi. He can’t renounce everything and drop out and marry me just because of the baby. I could never put that on his shoulders. But if I know Obi-Wan, he’ll insist on doing exactly that.”

“So what will you do?” Dormé said.

“I have no idea,” Padmé confessed.

There was a buzz from Dormé’s comlink, and she spoke into it quietly for a few moments before turning back to her employer. “Well, you’d better think fast. Knight Kenobi is on your landing pad, and Eirtaé just let him in.”

***

Obi-Wan wandered lazily around Padmé’s landing deck, examining her sculptures and other artistic pieces but not really seeing anything for what it was. In the Force, the apartment hummed with nervousness, worry and anticipation. There was also … if he concentrated … a thinly-veiled joy, prone to burst forth at any moment. Well, that’ll be from my arrival, he thought. I just hope I can contain myself.

Next second, any hope of doing so fled his mind as Padmé came lightly down the stairs, smiling broadly. Before they knew it, they were in each other’s arms again, just as they had done after Geonosis.

“Obi-Wan, I’m so glad you’re safe,” Padmé whispered, her voice trembling. “When the first casualty reports started coming in, I was so worried …”

“It’s all right, I’m here,” he soothed, stroking her hair. “And all I could think about, in the moments when I wasn’t fighting, was you.”

“I thought we were going to end this after our one night together,” she admonished lightly.

“We were. But someone forgot to send my brain the memo,” Obi-Wan admitted. “Either that or it ignored it completely. I suspect the latter, since I’ve been meditating on this every day.” Involuntarily he leaned down to nuzzle her.

“Mmm …” Padmé leaned into his touch, wrapping her arms around him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

Suddenly, they were kissing.

“No.” She knew she had to stop this before it went too far, before it turned into something they could not control. “We – we can’t. We said Geonosis was it, remember?”

“I remember,” he said huskily, pulling very slightly away. “I just … it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, and at the front, you were my warmth, Padmé. When it was cold or lonely or I was tired of talking to Anakin, I could just think of you, and remember our last night –”

“Obi-Wan … I’m pregnant,” Padmé whispered.

He stuttered to a halt and froze, feeling as though a bucket of ice had just cascaded into his stomach. A part of him, the part that always resided in the Force, was nodding with understanding, was smiling and saying Yes, it’s clear now … this was the nervousness I sensed when I entered. The rest of him – the part his brain seemed to be listening to, at any rate – could not register an emotion other than shock.

“You – what?” he said blankly. “But, but how can you be pregnant?”

She turned away, seeming to gather her composure. “Trust me, I’ve had it confirmed and reconfirmed. It’s a fact. And we did have … an encounter. Several, if I recall correctly. It’s really not all that inconceivable.”

“I know, I know.” Obi-Wan ran a weary hand over his face. “I just – I suppose this wasn’t exactly the news I was expecting when I came to visit you. It’s a surprise, that’s all.”

“It was a surprise to me, too,” Padmé said, smiling ruefully. “And I want you to know …”

Her voice trailed off as the full implications of what she was about to say hit her. She had rehearsed it for a full week, but now could not seem to summon the courage. You MUST, she reminded herself. There is no other way. If you love him, you will do this for him.

That last thought gave her the strength she needed, and she continued. “I want you to know that if you’d like to walk away … if you want to absolve yourself of all further responsibility, because you’re a Jedi and because of what it would mean for Anakin and your chance at Mastery and all those other things, then it’s okay. I understand. We said no regrets, and I don’t want you to have any. I don’t. My pregnancy shouldn’t change anything. We’ll just – go on, as we have done. And no more will have to be said.”

Padmé offered a wavery smile.

Obi-Wan said the first thing that came into his mind. “Padmé, I couldn’t.”

“But think of the Jedi! Think of the disgrace you’d be subjected to when we’re found out! It’s easy to keep it a secret now, but once I start getting bigger …” She shrugged helplessly. “There’s only so much heavy robes can conceal.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, moving to lay his hands softly on her shoulders. “You will be subjected to disgrace no matter what, when the press finds out. Remember what happened when Mon Mothma announced her pregnancy?”

“Yes,” Padmé said miserably.

“I can’t let you go through that alone. I bear just as much responsibility for this as you do, so it’s not fair for me to walk away. I could never live with that sort of guilt. You’re my best friend, and … I love you. No matter if we’re together or not.”

Padmé began to cry in earnest. “But the Jedi … the Code … we can’t keep this a secret …”

“I think,” Obi-Wan began, “that the time has come for me to talk to Master Yoda.”

“Oh Force, you’re actually going to tell him we –” Padmé looked revolted and sat quickly down on one of her couches.

“Well, think of it this way: would you prefer Yoda know or the whole galaxy know?” Obi-Wan asked sensibly.

She swallowed hard. “To tell the truth, the levels to which those two choices disgust me are about equal. But I suppose … if I were forced to choose … I’d tell Yoda first.”

“Exactly. He’ll be able to advise me, at least, on what my options are, and will probably be more amicable if I come to him before this becomes public knowledge. He’ll see it as taking responsibility for my actions, which is definitely – Padmé, where are you going?”

For she had suddenly leapt up and streaked for the stairs. Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, then hurried after her as he heard the sounds of retching.

“Padmé?” he called.

The sounds abruptly ceased, but Obi-Wan could sense her in the Force. He crept along a corridor and peered into the smallest room, a refresher. Padmé was hunched over the toilet, gasping and coughing. Immediately he went to her, pulled her hair back from her face. “You’re sick …” he ventured.

She looked at once embarrassed and pleased that he had followed her. “The baby,” she managed. “Medical droid said … this is common. Sola … my sister, she was sick through both of her pregnancies.” She leaned over the toilet and coughed some more. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s not your fault,” Obi-Wan replied. He was intrigued, having not had much cause to be around pregnant women. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Padmé swallowed hard against another wave of nausea. “Just … just hold my hair back the way you were doing before.”

Gently he took her hair in his hand and held it back from her face as she leaned downwards, surrendering her lunch, breakfast and probably last night’s dinner as well. He had a sense of awestruck admiration for her. Was this what she’d coped with for the last two months? Yet, because she was Padmé, she would never complain. He knew that. And it made him love and respect her all the more.

She raised her head slightly and ran her fingers across her mouth. “Goddesses … I can’t go back to the Senate today. Not … not like this.”

“You should be in bed,” Obi-Wan said softly, stroking her cheek.

“And you should be back at the Temple.” Padmé lay against the cold tile floor, digging in her pocket for a comlink. “What – what are you even doing here?”

“I sensed a disturbance in the Force,” he explained. “Having to do with you … and I was worried. So as soon as we landed, I made up an excuse and came here. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine. Nothing that won’t go away in nine months.” Involuntarily, she chuckled, then grimaced. “Wow. Can’t do that. Can’t laugh.”

“I can’t help feeling entirely responsible for this,” Obi-Wan sighed. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to go through this for two months already.”

“Stop that.” Padmé swatted him away. “Stop blaming yourself, we have an equal take in this and you know it.” She took several deep breaths, then spoke professionally into the comlink. “Eirtaé, I’m not feeling very well, so I need you to move my afternoon appointments to tomorrow morning. And let the authors of the Scadden Report know I’ll meet with them as soon as possible. Thank you.”

She stuffed the instrument back into her pocket and pressed her cheek to the floor. “I could stay here forever.”

Obi-Wan blinked, slightly puzzled. “Really?”

“Yes. So tired … and the floor feels good. Nice and cold. Helps me not to feel sick.” Padmé’s eyes fluttered closed.

He couldn’t help but smile. “You should be in bed.”

Her voice was muffled against the tile, but he thought he could detect a hint of amusement. “Make me.”

“If you insist, m’lady!” Obi-Wan chuckled, and in one smooth move he picked her carefully up, cradling her in his arms. She reclined, a wide smile spreading suddenly across her face.

“Actually, no, I retract my earlier statement,” Padmé murmured. “This … feels much better than the floor.”

“Yes,” agreed Obi-Wan absently. He was thinking of the last time he’d held her in his arms, in bed aboard the hospital ship, when they had created the child she now carried within her. The child … his child. He had not thought of that before. He was going to be a father, though he had little concept of precisely what that meant in familial terms. The closest man to a father he’d had was Qui-Gon, and Qui-Gon was gone now.

He sighed.

“Credit for your thoughts?” Padmé asked as Obi-Wan set her gently down on her bed.

“Mmm?” He sat next to her, pulling the covers carefully upwards. “Why do you ask?”

“You look as though you’re a million parsecs away,” she remarked.

“Force, I was. I was thinking about Qui-Gon, I guess, and how he was the only man I really knew as a father figure.” Obi-Wan let his hand drift towards Padmé’s abdomen, hoping that if he concentrated just hard enough, he would feel the life signature of the baby inside. “There was Yoda, of course, but he could never be mistaken for a real father. He was … is … more of an advisor. A teacher. Qui-Gon was that and so much more.”

Padmé nodded. “You two were very close. Even as an outsider meeting you for the first time, I could see that. I knew his death would hit you hard.”

“Is that why you came to me after the funeral?”

“Yes … and no,” she said, considering. “I mean, I knew you would miss him as a father, but I think I also felt that you needed someplace safe to grieve. Forgive me for saying this, but the Jedi aren’t exactly experts at letting their feelings out. And yet you can’t keep something like that bottled up inside. It hurts too much. It ends up destroying you from the inside out.”

“You sound like you’ve had some experience in this area,” Obi-Wan said.

“Yes … I suppose I have,” Padmé admitted. “When I was thirteen, my grandmother – her name was Eshonna – died. She was one of the most special people in my life. She encouraged me to go into politics, helped me to see that the best way to make a difference was through the political system itself. Nana ’Shonna, that’s what I called her. She was so happy when I announced that I was entering the race for Queen.” She paused, sniffling a little. “Nana ’Shonna was very sick, though. We all hoped she’d make it until after the election, but she just couldn’t hold on. She died about a month before the conclusion of my campaign. I dedicated my coronation to her … she would have loved to see it.”

“I’m sure she would have.” Obi-Wan grasped Padmé’s hand, almost without knowing it. “There’s … er, there’s a lot of things I wish Qui-Gon could have seen.”

“Such as?”

“My Knighting ceremony, I suppose. Some of the things Anakin has done, both good and bad. I wish he could be here now, to offer guidance about the war and to see what the galaxy is becoming. And … well, this probably sounds foolish, but I wish I could go to him and tell him I’m going to be a father. He would have appreciated it.”

“No.” Padmé shook her head. “No, it’s not foolish at all. He was the closest man you had to a father; you just said so yourself. It’s natural you’d want some guidance. I’ve had to physically restrain myself from comming my mother on several occasions.”

That distracted Obi-Wan slightly. “You haven’t told your family?”

She sighed. “No, I haven’t. I only found out two weeks ago, and I thought you should be one of the first people to know. The only other person who does know is Dormé, and that’s only because I’ve been sick a lot lately. She practically had to bribe me to see a medical droid. And she was there when the result came in. I’ve wanted to tell my parents, but … goddesses, it would be so hard to explain. I obviously couldn’t tell them who the father is, because they’d disown me. But they know I’m not the type to go to pleasure clubs, either. And with it being so easy to monitor comlink transmissions these days, I’ve just been too afraid that the news would fall into the wrong hands. I had a sense I was pregnant before the medical examination, but … I put off contacting a droid for so long. I was afraid for you.” Padmé ended on a whisper.

“Afraid of what it would mean for my life as a Jedi?” he asked.

“Yes. You know, it’s silly, but all I could think about was your little – lecture – about the Jedi Code, and about how being a Jedi means so much to you. I don’t want to be responsible for you being expelled from the Jedi Order.”

“You won’t be,” Obi-Wan promised. “That’s why I’m going to tell Master Yoda about this. And please, Padmé … forget everything I said about the Code. It’s true, being a Jedi does matter to me, but … it’s not everything. Some things in life are more important.” He massaged her midsection gently.

Her smile was wide and full of emotion. “Oh, goddesses, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, and bent forwards for a kiss.

They remained that way, reveling in closeness after being separated for so long, for several minutes before Obi-Wan reluctantly pulled away. “I should let you get some rest. I need to talk to Yoda anyway.”

“Mmm.” Her eyes were fluttering closed again, but she suddenly opened them wide. “Obi-Wan? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you … happy about this?” she said tentatively. “About the baby?”

He only had to think for a moment before smiling broadly and answering, “Padmé … I haven’t been this happy for a long time. Not since the hospital ship, returning from Geonosis.”

***

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, breathing deeply and trying to centre himself in the Force. It would not do for him to enter Master Yoda’s private meditation area flustered and nervous, but he was finding it very difficult to clear his mind.

“Come in!” called Yoda’s soft voice.

“Here goes nothing,” Obi-Wan muttered. He pressed the button and the door slid open, revealing the dimly-lit, comfortable room.

Somehow, it was easier to relax within. The calm, smooth eddies of the Force that he remembered surrounding him even as an infant were ever-present. He had become closer to Yoda since Qui-Gon’s death, and was more likely to consult him on matters from military strategy to the latest difficulty he was having with Anakin’s training. Yoda always listened, and his advice was excellent.

This, though … this was something much more delicate.

“Obi-Wan,” Yoda said evenly, gesturing for him to sit down. “What help to you can I be?”

“Master, I …” Obi-Wan bit his lip, unsure how to proceed. “I have something to tell you,” he finished lamely.

“Proceed.”

“I suppose I’d better start at the beginning,” Obi-Wan said, as much to put off the inevitable confession as anything else. “I … I haven’t been a very good Jedi, Master Yoda.”

Yoda’s ears flattened slightly, but he betrayed no other reaction.

“A few years ago, the Jedi Council recommended sessions of extra meditation for me, because they felt I had withdrawn from many activities central to Jedi life.” Obi-Wan hesitated slightly before continuing, “Through those meditations I realized that I had begun to develop … inappropriate feelings for Padmé Amidala. We used to write to each other, before she stopped sending letters about two years ago. It was through those letters that I realized I had fallen in love with her. But I never acted on those feelings. I buried them beneath the surface, tried to meditate them away, as I’d been taught. As you know, many on the Council praised my ability to pull myself out of the depression I seemed to be in.

“Then Anakin and I were assigned to guard Senator Amidala from her assassin, and she was sent to Naboo. Before she left, she … she gave me a letter.”

“Have you that letter?” Yoda asked.

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan pulled Padmé’s letter out of a pocket in his robes. He had carried it around ever since she had given it to him, even on all his missions and battles in the Clone Wars, and he now regarded it as a sort of talisman, a part of Padmé that kept him whole and happy even though he couldn’t be with her. The flimsiplast was wrinkled, and it had lost that wonderful perfume smell, but still he carried it. He couldn’t let it go.

“Mmm,” murmured Yoda, scanning the letter. “This letter she sent you, but act on your feelings, you did not. Correct?”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard and blushed again. “Not – not until we were on the hospital ship on the way back from Geonosis. I went to her room, intending to talk with her about the letter, and … well, we, we had, erm … intimate relations. I told her that it had to be the first and last time, that after that night we could only see one another in our capacity as friends.”

“To make love to another, permitted it is under the Code,” Yoda reminded him.

“Yes, Master, I know, but … she’s two months pregnant.” He bit his lip. “I visited her today, after Anakin and I returned from Kashyyyk. That’s when she told me. She said … she said I’m the father. She had it confirmed by a medical droid two weeks ago.”

Yoda’s ears flattened further and he closed his eyes, sinking for a moment into meditation. Obi-Wan could not ever remember feeling so embarrassed and ashamed, but at the same time, he sensed that his Master was not angry with him. Disappointed, perhaps, but not angry.

“Well, I suppose I’d better go prepare my resignation notice,” he said helplessly, and stood to leave.

Yoda shook his head, though his eyes remained closed. “No. A notice you do not need.”

“No? But – but you’re expelling me from the Order, aren’t you? I fathered a child, which constitutes disobedience of the Code in the extreme!”

“Sit down, Obi-Wan.” Yoda gestured to the vacated seat.

Obi-Wan sat.

“Long have I wondered how this situation should be handled,” Yoda murmured, finally opening his eyes. “An exemplary Jedi you have been until now, when violated the Code you did. But unfair it would be to expel you. Much service, much service, have you given the Republic and the Jedi Order. Followed the Code precisely have you. A credit you are to the Order.”

Obi-Wan felt himself blushing again, but not out of embarrassment this time.

“Yet broken the Code, you have. What to do, with someone such as yourself?”

“With all due respect, Master, is that not for you to say?” Obi-Wan offered politely, unsure whether it was really appropriate for him to decide his own fate.

“For nearly eight hundred years have I trained Jedi,” Yoda replied. “For those years, a few such as yourself there have been. Earned more privileges they have, by virtue of exemplary service. Silent on this truth, the Code is. But long have I believed matters should be different. Jedi such as yourself, punished they should not be, if stick to their beliefs they do.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “I … I’m not sure I follow.”

“Adhered to the Code as a model student you always have,” said Yoda gently. “But afraid you are not to stand up for your beliefs when contravene the Code they do. Such as now. Abandoned Senator Amidala, you did not. Attempt to hide the truth, you did not. Deny your role in her pregnancy, you did not. Instead, told the truth you did, even though you knew that cause you trouble it might.”

“It’s just – it’s just the right thing to do, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably. “I care about Senator Amidala very much. I wouldn’t just abandon her.”

“That,” Yoda said proudly, “is what I mean.”

Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand nervously through his hair. “Right, well, even if I’m not going to be expelled, what should I do? I appreciate the compliments, Master, really,” he added hastily, “but I need to figure out what to do. I want to do my duty to both the Jedi Order and Padmé.”

“Decide that for you, I cannot,” answered Yoda. “Need you, the Jedi do, but so does Senator Amidala. Faith I have that you will make the right choice.”

“Understood, Master,” Obi-Wan sighed. He rose once more to go, then turned back. “Master Yoda … you haven’t said anything about the fact that – that I love Senator Amidala. Surely I should at least be disciplined for that?”

The ancient Jedi had closed his eyes in meditation again, and did not open them as he spoke. “No. No discipline. … Need each other, you will.”

And with that enigmatic reply, he bowed Obi-Wan from his office.

***

Padmé had been sleeping for several hours when she was roused by the buzzing of her comlink. “Amidala speaking,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t sound as though she had just woken up.

“Padmé, it’s Obi-Wan,” came the musical Coruscanti accent. “You sound like you’ve just woken up.”

She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “As a matter of fact I did. But I was hoping it wouldn’t be that obvious.”

“Sorry about that. Just my Jedi senses, I suppose. I’ll try to restrain them. In the meantime, I wanted to tell you … I’ve just come from speaking with Master Yoda.”

Padmé swallowed. “And?”

“Well, it was strange,” admitted Obi-Wan. “I told him everything, and he seemed almost permissive of our relationship. He didn’t seek to discipline me as the Code indicated he should. He just … he said I should consider the fact that both you and the Jedi need me in equal measure. He urged me to consider all the factors involved, and make a choice.”

“A choice?” Padmé sighed. She didn’t want to belittle Obi-Wan’s Knighthood – they’d had that argument before, after all – but she was genuinely tired of losing out to the Jedi Order. Part of her, the part that was Senator Amidala in attitude as well as in name, understood her love’s dedication completely and wanted to do all it could to support him, even if that meant sacrificing her companionship and his interaction with their unborn child. But a smaller part of her, a selfish part, a part that she pretended did not exist, longed for him to tell her that he had left the Order to marry her and raise the baby.

Padmé knew how unrealistic that was, but she couldn’t help it.

“Padmé …” Obi-Wan’s voice was hesitant. “You know how important I am to the war effort.”

Here we go again, thought Padmé. But all she said was, “Yes, I know.”

“And, for that matter, to Anakin. Imagine what his reaction would be if I told him I was leaving the Order because I loved you and had fathered our baby.”

“He’d be angry, and jealous,” she agreed.

“So … right now … I wish there was another way, any other way … but I’ve got to stay with the Order. That doesn’t mean I can’t see you … and the baby … but we can’t be involved romantically. Not publicly, and not privately. I’ll support you throughout your pregnancy, and I will help to raise the child. I won’t walk away. But … but we can’t live with each other, nor can we be seen to be in love. I’m sorry.”

She paused, trying to regain composure. It’s always like this, always. I get my hopes up only to see them dashed. But this time it’s not only me, this time it’s my child. Why, Obi-Wan, why?

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and he sounded close to tears.

Padmé took a deep breath before raising the comlink to her lips once more. “I’m sorry too,” she said with as much composure as she could manage. “I wish … with all my heart … that things could be different.”

“As do I.” That same tearfulness, and suddenly she knew that this was just as hard for him as it was for her. He wasn’t doing this willingly. He was doing it because it was his duty.

It made her heart ache all the more for both of them.

And it made her love him all the more.

“So. Um, when are you leaving for your next mission?” Padmé asked lightly, hoping to deflect attention from both their feelings at that devastating moment.

“In a week, most likely.” Obi-Wan sounded more upbeat, as well. “But I’ll try to talk to you again before then. I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you!” she promised. “Well, we won’t let you.”

“Padme … I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”

When their conversation had ended, Padmé sobbed again for what was impossible. She had lost count of the number of times she had done so.

***

Pain.

Blinding pain.

It was a dream. But she woke, and the dream became reality.

The pain pierced her, stabbed her, ate her alive. She was wet, and when she pulled her hand away, she saw blood.

My womanly trial, she thought, before remembering that this was impossible. And the pain … she couldn’t think for the pain.

“The BABY … oh please no please no don’t let there be anything wrong please no save him please …”

The thoughts screamed through her head. Her vision darkened.

“Save him save him please please don’t let him die …”

She might have screamed the words; she might have whispered them. She was no longer certain.

“Obi-Wan! Please!”

Those words, she had screamed.

She screamed them as Dormé held her, screamed them as the medical technicians hurried into the room.

Screamed them as unconsciousness claimed her.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Requiem

“Master? … Master!”

He grumbled and turned over. It wasn’t morning yet, so why was he being woken?

“MASTER!”

Obi-Wan started, nearly falling out of bed. “ANAKIN!” he roared, more surprised than anything else. He saw his Padawan leap backwards in alarm. “Sorry, it’s just … you scared me. What in the galaxy is the matter?”

“Well, it – it’s Padmé,” Anakin said hesitantly.

Obi-Wan was instantly alert. “Padmé? What about her?”

“I had this dream. Like … like I sometimes used to have about my mother.” In the dim light of their quarters, Anakin’s face was white and sweaty. “Padmé was screaming … like she was in pain or something. And … and … there was blood. A – a lot of blood.”

“Stars,” Obi-Wan shuddered. “What a terrible nightmare. I’d have been frightened too.”

“The thing is, I think the dream might have been telling the future,” said Anakin, turning whiter still. “Or – or maybe even the present. When I had those dreams about Mom, they were trying to tell me something was going to happen to her. And then … as it was happening … they got even more intense.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Obi-Wan, I think Padmé’s in danger. Can we comm her and make sure she’s all right?”

Obi-Wan sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Part of him agreed with Anakin and wanted desperately to do exactly that, but … “Anakin, it’s the middle of the night. If we comm her now, well, she’ll be furious at us for disrupting her sleep, for one thing. Wouldn’t you be angry if someone woke you needlessly at three in the morning?”

“Not if my life was in danger and they could save me,” Anakin said defensively. “You don’t have those dreams, so you don’t know what they’re like. I – I can’t just sit here and wait to hear if something’s happened! I have to know! I have to make sure!” He plunged his mechanical hand into the pocket of his sleep trousers and withdrew a comlink. “I’m comming her, and you can’t stop me!”

Fuming, he stomped out of the room.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Fine. On your own shoulders be it, then.” He certainly wasn’t going to chance waking Padmé this early. Particularly in her current condition. But if Anakin wanted to, well, that was his own business.

He rolled back into bed and was just drifting off when –

“Master?”

Anakin had returned.

“For vape’s sake, what is it now?”

“Well – it’s just … Padmé isn’t answering her comlink,” Anakin said, and he sounded close to hysterics. “I called four times. And she didn’t answer.”

“Oh, and it couldn’t possibly be because she’s sleeping,” said Obi-Wan sarcastically.

“Very funny,” Anakin snapped. “Look, you know what happens whenever Padmé’s not around to take comlink calls. One of her handmaidens always has her comlink, so they can answer it and record her messages. And there’s always a handmaiden on security duty. So if the comlink’s not being answered, that means there’s no handmaiden on security, and that means …”

“Oh, kriff,” Obi-Wan gasped as the chilling realization stole over him. “We need to get over there. Now.”

Anakin was already hurrying out the door, and Obi-Wan got the distinct impression his Padawan had been planning to do just that all along. It didn’t matter now, though. Padmé’s safety was paramount, and the apparent inability of either her or her staff to answer comlink calls was very worrisome indeed.

In less than five minutes, both Master and Padawan were fully dressed and ready to leave. They took one of the speeders designated for personal use from the Jedi Temple’s hangar and flew off into the night.

Obi-Wan had insisted on piloting the craft, since Anakin seemed to be moments away from having a complete breakdown. He was white as a sheet, shaking violently and kept muttering, “Not Padmé … not Padmé, please not Padmé … first Mom, now Padmé … please, no …” over and over. The last few months had given Obi-Wan reason to suspect that something had happened with Padmé and Anakin’s friendship – perhaps motivated by her having told Anakin that she didn’t think of him in a romantic manner – but it was clear that he cared no less for her.

“Anakin, it’s all right,” Obi-Wan said, patting Anakin’s arm in what he hoped was a comforting way. The younger man had turned an interesting shade of green and was keeping his lips tightly clamped. “I’m sure we’ll get there and find that everything is just fine, and this has all been some big mistake.”

Anakin shot his Master as withering a glance as was possible under the circumstances. “The dreams – aren’t – like that,” he managed to squeeze out. “They … predict … stuff.”

Truthfully, Obi-Wan felt just as queasy as Anakin looked, and now believed that his dream had most likely foretold something, but he wasn’t about to admit that either to his Padawan or to himself. The thought that something had happened … to Padmé, or to his child … was too much for him to bear.

They pulled up to Padme’s apartment and Anakin leapt immediately out, lightsaber ignited. Obi-Wan was right behind, but held out a hand to stop him. “Wait,” he whispered. “If it’s an assassin or someone similar, they could still be here. We must use caution.”

“If it is …” Anakin spat, clutching his lightsaber so hard that Obi-Wan could hear the mechanical servos in his right arm whining.

“Rescue, not mayhem,” Obi-Wan insisted. “Control your emotions. Rushing in will do no good whatsoever.”

Anakin took several deep breaths, and when Obi-Wan reached out to him in the Force, he was calmer.

They crept into the apartment. The very fact that they could do so was another blow – the security field had been deactivated and not brought back online. Everything else looked normal – sculptures on their pedestals, statues on their plinths, the curtains fluttering lightly in the night’s breeze. Stretching out in the Force, Obi-Wan could sense no life-forms in the immediate vicinity, except …

Except …

“There’s someone on the upper floor,” he whispered to Anakin. “Quietly, after me.”

Master and apprentice tiptoed up the stairs, coming into Padmé’s living area. Once again, no signs of anything unusual were present … aside from the small, hunched form sitting on one of her couches.

“Padmé?” Anakin asked.

The figure snapped to attention, and in the dim light provided by the buildings outside, Obi-Wan could see it was Eirtaé, the handmaiden who had ushered him inside – had it been only yesterday? It seemed so much longer … The woman’s eyes were red and swollen, and she seemed to have been crying.

“Master Jedi!” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “What in goddess’s name are you doing here?”

“We tried to comm Padmé about four times, and no one was answering,” Obi-Wan explained. “So we just wanted to make sure everything was all right. … Is it?”

“You tried to comm her?” said Eirtaé blankly. “Oh – yes, I turned it off. The press, you know … conclusions are drawn when reporters see a Senator leaving her apartment at such an unusual hour, in that sort of state –”

She stopped short, seeing the stricken looks on their faces.

Anakin, looking as frightened and upset as Obi-Wan felt, finally thought to shut off his lightsaber. “What – what happened?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“We’re still not sure,” Eirtaé admitted. “Senator Amidala seemed to be feeling all right, if a little tired, when she went to bed. She’s been a little off-colour for weeks, you see. Then a few hours after she had retired, Dormé’s comlink sounded. It was the Senator, and … she was in a terrible state. There was so much pain, and blood. We thought at first there had been another assassination attempt, but the room bore no signs of forced entry, and there was nothing to indicate any energy weapons had been fired. So I called my Lady’s private physician, and a group of medical technicians were summoned. They took her to the Coruscant Medcenter. And … and that’s all I know, at this moment.”

Anakin was already heading for the stairs, but Obi-Wan lingered a moment, thoughts spinning through his head. “The medical technicians, did they say anything about, erm, the Senator’s physical health?” was the first question that came to him.

“Nothing other than that it appeared to be an internal hemorrhage of some type,” said the handmaiden nervously, and Obi-Wan could tell she was becoming uncomfortable. “But they said they would need to do more diagnostic tests at the Medcenter. There are … rumours, Your Grace, among some members of Senator Amidala’s staff that she is in a delicate condition, but of course that’s a preposterous assertion.” (Obi-Wan nodded fervently.) “We guessed simple stress, the pressures of her work in the Senate, which is rather intense at the moment. But this … this is obviously something much more serious.”

A single tear tracked its way down Eirtaé’s cheek. Obi-Wan had to work hard to ease some of his own desperate fear, releasing it into the Force.

“Master, what are we waiting for?” Anakin demanded, one foot on the top step. “Let’s go! I want to see how Padmé is.”

Obi-Wan turned back to the handmaiden. “Would – would that be all right?” he asked tentatively. “I mean, do you think they’d let us in?”

“Given you are Jedi, and well-known to my Lady, I suppose they might,” Eirtaé replied. “Please ask Dormé to comm me on the handmaidens’ channel if she knows anything more.”

“I will,” Obi-Wan promised. “Thank you for your time.”

“Of course.”

He followed Anakin down the stairs and back into the speeder. This time, he felt nauseated, while Anakin seemed calmer.

“They’ll sort her out,” he said confidently as he took the controls of the speeder and piloted them away. “The Coruscant Medcenter can fix almost anything. Like the other day, I heard there was a clone brought in and both his arms and legs were sliced clean off. He survived, though, and he’ll get prosthetics and stuff and be back in service. And besides, at least it wasn’t an assassination attempt.”

Obi-Wan nodded mutely. Yes, the fact that there had not been another attempt on Padmé’s life was certainly good news, but that did not stop the sick, swooping sensation in his stomach when he remembered Eirtaé’s words: “… she was in a terrible state … There was so much pain, and blood.” Pain from what? Blood from where? Had the medical technicians been able to identify the problem? Was Padmé still hurting? And the baby … oh, stars, please let the baby be all right …

He faced forwards, more frightened than he had ever been.

***

The lake was wide, and blue, and she was floating upon it. No, floating in a boat. They had rented the boat, and were on their way to Varykino. She, Obi-Wan, and a small dark-haired boy Padmé did not know. Obi-Wan had wrapped both his arms around her, and she was reclining in his lap while the child splashed the water alongside the boat.

“Let’s have another water fight, Daddy!” he exclaimed, looking expectantly at Obi-Wan. “Bet I can beat you this time. See?” He used the Force to lift a small amount of water and bring it splashing over Obi-Wan’s head.

“I haven’t even agreed yet! No fair starting!” laughed Obi-Wan.

“Best two out of three?” the boy begged.

“In a moment,” his father promised. “When we get to Varykino we’ll have the water fight to end all water fights. Right now, I just want to be with your mother. I want to reassure her that there will soon be days like this in her life.”

The choice of words struck Padmé as very odd, but before she could ask for clarification, the scene dissolved, swirling into colours. When things became clear again, she was standing on a wide green field. She recognized it as the same field where she and Anakin had picnicked.

Several shaaks were grazing nearby, and the dark-haired boy stood in front of her. He reached for Padmé’s hand, squeezing it lightly.

“Mom, I’ve got to go now,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Who – who are you?”

“I’m inside of you,” the boy said. “I’m you, and Daddy. But … but something’s happened, and I have to go. I don’t know why. I just do.”

“Inside of me,” Padmé echoed. “So … so you’re …”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She moved to hug him, but he pulled away.

“Please don’t,” he said. “It’ll just be harder that way. I have to do this.”

Padmé could feel the tears starting to come, but she squeezed his hand back. “Why?”

“The will of the Force,” the boy said simply.

He walked away as the scene dissolved once more, and she felt herself being pulled down … back …

“Padmé? … Padmé, darling, can you hear me?”

She did not want to answer. She was back, she could sense she was back, and there was heaviness about her body that had not been there before.

Someone took her hand, kissed it lightly. Padmé could feel a tickle of hair against it, and it was that, perhaps, which finally motivated her to open her eyes.

Obi-Wan was sitting beside her, his head bowed as if in meditation, his hand now clutching hers. He looked as she had never before seen him look – like a man who did not know where he was or what to do. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he seemed utterly defeated.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

He jumped and nearly toppled off his chair at the sound of her voice. “Padmé … thank goodness,” he whispered.

Two tears slipped down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” Padmé asked, shocked by his appearance.

Obi-Wan ran a weary hand across his face. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t know …” he murmured, almost to himself. “Padmé … darling, you’re in the Coruscant Medcenter. You were brought here early this morning, after taking quite ill overnight.”

Scenes flashed back to her … blood … screaming … a voice, shouting for medical technicians to be called … blinding pain …

“The baby!” Padmé blurted. “Oh goddesses, please tell me the baby’s all right!”

He lowered his eyes, apparently unable to look at her.

“Obi-Wan … please,” she begged.

“The technicians … did everything they could,” he began, “but by the time you were brought in … they said it was already too far gone. They rushed you into surgery, and – and – couldn’t find a heartbeat.”

“No!” she cried. “No, that’s not possible! Everything was fine!”

The baby was okay … the medical droid said so … how can this be happening to me? her mind screamed.

Besides her, Obi-Wan was crying quietly.

He wouldn’t be so upset if it wasn’t true.

She swallowed hard, tears beginning to slip down her cheeks, thinking suddenly of the dream she’d had. Was it a dream? Mom … the child had called her Mom. Something’s happened … I have to go, he’d said. The will of the Force.

Padmé began to cry in earnest now. She had lost … and there was nothing else to say.

***

She passed the next days in a haze of grief and pain. Medical technicians visited her almost constantly, confirming that she had suffered a miscarriage at nearly three months’ gestation. Testing found that the child was male, but did not provide the reason for the failed pregnancy. Padmé could not help but feel a sense of comfort at the news that she had carried a boy – perhaps the dream really did mean something, then. Perhaps her son had been trying to tell her goodbye, even though she hadn’t understood.

It was only a small comfort, however. Her body was still recovering physically from the trauma, and every three hours the technicians appeared to administer a strong pain medication that, more often than not, put her to sleep. This left little time for conscious thought, but in her more lucid moments Padmé told herself firmly that once she was sent home to finish her recuperation, she would deal with the cascading thoughts and emotions she sensed were struggling to break free.

She had a steady stream of visitors, and her handmaidens organized shifts so that one would be with her or nearby at all times. This was necessary not only for Padmé’s emotional stability (or what remained thereof), but also to fend off the increasingly curious members of the press. The HoloNet stationed a reporter outside whose job was to watch the Medcenter entrance at all times for people connected to Padmé or Padmé herself, in an attempt to discover the reason for her having suddenly been hospitalized.

Padmé had originally thought that it was for this reason Obi-Wan didn’t come to see her after his initial visit. It was understandable that he might not want to be seen to be involved, especially since rumours were floating around the HoloNet that Senator Amidala’s medical problems were gynecological in nature. (How they had gotten this information, Padmé had no idea, and truthfully she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to know.) But Obi-Wan’s lack of visitation wasn’t related to the media swarm, as a rather shifty-looking Anakin informed her when he came on the second day.

“It – it’s happening again,” Anakin said, refusing to look Padmé directly in the eye.

She had just been given a dose of pain medication, so her mind was beginning to slip in and out of focus. “What?” she said, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth.

“What happened two years ago,” he explained. “After you stopped writing to him. He’s shut himself up in his quarters and won’t come out. Not even for meals. The Council’s starting to get worried again.”

“Do they … do they … know?” Padmé asked. She had to concentrate very hard to surmount the fuzzy-headed sensation the medication was creating.

“That you’re in the Medcenter? I think so. But … well, you’re not going to die or anything, are you?” Anakin looked worried.

“No. Not going to die. Just a minor thing,” Padmé answered. She had agreed to the cover story Dormé had come up with, which was that she had suffered a burst appendix and was taken in for emergency surgery from which she was now recuperating. Nevertheless, many in the media were refusing to accept it for some reason, and the rumours persisted.

“Yeah, it was in the HoloNet News today that you’re in here,” Anakin told her. “But … Padmé, if you’re not going to die, then why is Obi-Wan so upset? I mean, I’m assuming he’s upset about you. I don’t know what else would be wrong. Unless he’s just really preoccupied with meditation before our mission, but I don’t think so, because …”

His voice sounded as though it was coming from a badly-tuned radio, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay awake for much longer. “Ani, can I ask you something?”

It took an extraordinary amount of strength just to say that.

Anakin stopped short. “Sure,” he replied, sounding surprised.

“Well, during the time we had on Naboo, I felt like … like we drifted apart a little,” Padmé managed, “and I don’t … I don’t like that. I want us to be friends again. My feelings for Obi-Wan shouldn’t change that, and neither … neither should yours for me. I’ve known you for – for ten years now, and I think it would be a shame to let our friendship just … die. So … so can we still be … friends?”

Anakin’s face relaxed into the biggest smile she had seen for a long while. “Oh, Padmé, of course. I don’t want to lose your friendship either. You’re one of my best friends, and …” He blushed a little. “And you bring me comfort. You keep me centred. Whole.” He reached over and squeezed her hand.

Padmé squeezed weakly back, then sighed softly as her eyes fluttered shut. “Stay … stay with me until … I fall asleep?” she asked.

“I would love to, Padmé.” And he did not release her hand, long after it had gone limp.

***

Padmé was released from the Coruscant Medcenter two days later with a list of instructions to promote healthy recovery, enough medicine to fill a battle cruiser, the comm numbers of several grief healers in the area and strict orders not to return to the Senate for one week. Dormé and Eirtaé sheltered her from the media for the most part, although a few reporters did manage to shout questions at her and shove recording devices into her face as she climbed into a speeder. Overall, though, it was agreed that the homecoming had gone as well as could be expected.

Anakin was waiting on her landing pad, and he grinned as the speeder pulled up and Dormé helped her carefully out. She was immediately wrapped in a fervent, but gentle, hug by Anakin.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, obviously concerned.

“All right,” she managed. “A little tired, but better. Thank you.”

“Why don’t we sit down, then,” Anakin suggested, and led her slowly over to one of her couches. He moved a small holobook that had been lying on one of the cushions, and watched anxiously as Padmé lowered herself onto the couch.

“I’m okay, Ani, really,” she assured him. “You’re looking at me as though I’m going to break any second. I promise you, I won’t.”

“Really?” he asked, and they both laughed.

Laughing … it felt so strange for her.

Anakin turned over the holobook and looked curiously at its title. “1,001 Galactic Names for Your Baby?” he read aloud. “What’s this for?”

It happened unexpectedly and abruptly. Padmé opened her mouth to explain, but instead of formulating an appropriate excuse, she began to cry. Hating herself for doing so in the very next instant.

Anakin looked rightfully startled, and drew back a little. “Padmé, what’s wrong? You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to, I was just wondering.”

She turned away from him, attempting and failing miserably to marshal her emotions, weighing the risk of telling him against the risk of keeping it secret, deciding that there could be no other reasonable explanation for her tears.

Padmé wiped them away, took a deep breath, and turned to face her friend.

“Ani, I … I haven’t been entirely truthful with you,” she confessed. “I’ve allowed you to believe the cover story in the media, and – it’s not true.”

“What do you mean?” asked Anakin, puzzled.

“The truth is … the truth is that I was pregnant,” Padmé explained, unable to meet his eyes. “I found out almost three weeks ago now. And the other night, I started bleeding and having some really bad pain. Dormé took me to the Medcenter, and they told me …” She swallowed hard. “They told me I’d lost the baby.”

“Oh, Padmé.” Anakin looked stricken. “I – I’m so sorry. That’s awful.” He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “And there’s something else. Anakin … Obi-Wan was the father.”

“He – what? But how could he – when did you – but –” he blustered. “How – how is this possible?”

“Please don’t let on that you know,” she begged. “He tries to be such a good role model for you and it would devastate him if he knew I’d told you. I only did because I hated lying to you like that. It’s not fair. You’re supposed to be my friend. Friends don’t lie to each other.”

“Friends don’t keep secrets from each other, either,” Anakin pointed out.

“I know. And I hope you can forgive me. There’s no excuse for what I did. I just wanted to protect you. I felt I shouldn’t burden you with another secret you might not be willing or able to keep.”

Anakin sighed. “I don’t suppose the Council knew.” His tone was neutral.

“Only Yoda,” Padmé told him, swiping again at her tears. “Obi-Wan thought that it was important to tell him well in advance of the news getting out. If … if the pregnancy had continued …” She took several deep breaths, willing herself not to cry again. “If the pregnancy had continued, it would eventually have been very difficult for me to hide it. Heavy robes do only so much. So Obi-Wan suggested, and I agreed, that Yoda should be the first to know.”

“I would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that particular conversation,” murmured Anakin.

“By all accounts I think it went quite well, actually. Of course … none of that matters now.” She turned away again. I can’t cry again now … I just won’t!

“Padmé, you need to go to him,” Anakin said suddenly.

She was momentarily startled out of her tears. “Excuse me?”

“You need to go see Obi-Wan,” he clarified. “I don’t want what happened to him two years ago to happen again. He’s doing all his duties, getting us ready for our mission, but I can sense … he’s about to crack. If he doesn’t release some of that pent-up emotion soon …” Anakin shrugged helplessly. “I can’t think about what might happen.”

“But Ani, what good will that do?” Padmé whispered miserably. “It will only remind us of how much we’ve lost.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to grieve with another person,” Anakin insisted. “When you came to talk to me after my Mom died – well, I couldn’t have gotten through that without you. And I don’t want my Master cracking up on a mission.”

He began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” asked Padmé, bewildered.

“Nothing,” said Anakin between chuckles. “I just realized how much I’m starting to sound like him, that’s all.”

Impulsively she reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “There’s more of him in you than either of you realize. And more of you in him.”

“I know that’s true,” Anakin replied. His attention was focused on his lap, at their clasped hands. “It’s just hard to remember sometimes.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Padmé, go see Obi-Wan. Please.” Anakin was suddenly serious again. “He needs to let out his grief. And he’s not going to do it with me because of what you said, about him being my role model. That’s another thing we have in common, we both feel comfortable around you. Able to be ourselves. And right now …” From his expression, it looked as though it was costing him dearly to say those words. “Right now, you need each other.”

Padmé gazed past him, towards the spires of the Jedi Temple. Was it really true, was Obi-Wan slipping into himself as he had done when she stopped writing to him? If so, how could she help? What good would it do, when they had both agreed to be just friends?

But Anakin is your friend, and when he was grieving the death of his mother, you helped him, she reminded herself. You love Obi-Wan, so why do you owe him anything less?

“All right,” she said finally. “I will.”

***

Obi-Wan’s room was dark. That was the first thing Padmé noticed. All the blinds were drawn, making it seem gloomy and depressing even though the sun was shining brightly outside. Obi-Wan was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, a stack of untouched datapads tottering next to him. He looked reasonably well-groomed, although there were dark circles under his eyes and he appeared to have lost some weight.

“Knock, knock,” said Padmé softly, peeking around the doorjamb.

Obi-Wan jumped and nearly fell off the bed. The datapads rocked violently and toppled over, scattering on the floor, but he made no move to pick them up. Instead he rubbed a hand wearily over his eyes and said, “Padmé, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” she said honestly. “When I last saw you in the Medcenter … well, I was pretty drugged at the time, but not so much to notice that you were upset.”

“There is no emotion, there is peace,” Obi-Wan mumbled, listlessly levitating the datapads and piling them back onto his bed. “I’m fine, Padmé.”

“Anakin doesn’t think so,” said Padmé softly. She hated to bring him into it, but neither did she feel she could lie.

“Kriff, what is he, my Padawan or my mother?” snapped Obi-Wan, slamming the last datapad onto the pile in an uncharacteristic display of temper. “It’s not up to him to say how I am or am not feeling!”

“Perhaps not,” Padmé acknowledged. “But sometimes … sometimes I think he knows you better than you know yourself.”

Obi-Wan sank back onto the bed and resumed staring at the ceiling, but made no reply.

Impulsively, Padmé sat next to him. “I know you too,” she said. “And the Obi-Wan I know doesn’t slam equipment around out of anger. Nor is he so lackadaisical in his use of the Force. Something’s wrong. And we need to work it out together, because this time it concerns both of us.”

He bit his lip and suddenly seemed to be trying to hold back tears. Her hand snaked out and clasped his.

“Tell me,” Padmé whispered.

“My – my fault,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s all my fault. Everything’s my fault. Everything. Would’ve been better if … if I just never got involved … never was born. I’ve ruined everything. Everything I ever did … was just wrong.”

Padmé resisted the urge to tell him no, it wasn’t, as she had so many times before. She had a sense that it would be better to probe deeper into his feelings. “What do you mean?”

“I mean everything.” Two tears rolled down Obi-Wan’s cheeks. “Qui-Gon’s death … Anakin’s failures … the miscarriage … everything. It’s all my responsibility. I was never good enough. I made too many mistakes. I … I continue to make too many mistakes. And it will never be good enough, no matter how hard I try. Every time, I say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing.” His shoulders shook as he began to cry, but he continued to speak. “My life is a series of ifs. If I had only been able to reach Qui-Gon in time … if I could be a better Master to Anakin … if I hadn’t told you that we couldn’t be lovers … if, if, if. So … many … mistakes …”

She lay beside him with her arms outstretched, and he melted into her touch. She clasped him to her chest, allowing him to cry, wanting him to let it out, wishing there was some way to lift the weight of guilt from his shoulders. Padmé had never quite realized how crushing it must be, nor how difficult his life had been. But to hear him speak of it, of all the opportunities that had been denied him through, he felt, his own errors, was heart-wrenching.

“Oh, Obi-Wan,” Padmé murmured, softly stroking his hair. “You can’t keep this all inside. It’s eating you alive.”

“Can’t … let go.” His voice was muffled in her dress. “Tried. So many times. ‘There is no emotion, there is peace …’”

“But you can’t recite that to yourself forever,” she insisted. “You need to deal with the emotions instead of burying them. I know it goes against everything you’ve been taught. But if you don’t allow yourself to grieve … you’re no less of a person, or a Jedi, for feeling sadness.”

“But the Code …” Obi-Wan whispered.

“Somehow, I don’t think turning its followers into mindless, emotionless automatons was what the Code had in mind,” Padmé said.

“The miscarriage … it was my fault,” he replied, turning to look at her. “I told you … just before it happened … that we couldn’t be together. It must have upset you so much that –”

“The miscarriage was no one’s fault,” she corrected, feeling a choke of her own grief return. “The technicians at the Medcenter were very clear on that. They told me it was one of those things. I suppose you could say … the will of the Force. You weren’t responsible any more than this button on my dress.”

Obi-Wan blinked, and reached a hand up to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I lost so much, Padmé,” he said, and his voice was stronger now. “When I heard that you had miscarried, it was only then that I realized it. I realized I’d lost the chance to be a father, which is something I’ve always wanted. I didn’t know I wanted it until you lost our baby. Then … I realized exactly how much I want a child. And what a damned fool I’ve been to keep telling you that we can’t be involved as partners. The Force is trying to tell me something. It’s trying to tell me that I’m running out of chances. That if I want to love you, if we want to be in love, the time to begin is now.”

It was Padmé’s turn to blink in confusion. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying … please, Padmé, forget everything I’ve ever said about the Code. Forget everything I’ve ever said about treating you only as a friend. Forget all my assertions that love is not the Jedi way. And … I want to love you. As a woman, as my best friend, and perhaps – eventually, as the mother of my child. Please, darling.”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. Was this it? Was this what she had been waiting for for so long? Obi-Wan, gazing at her beseechingly, desperate to love all of her? Finally understanding how much his love meant to her?

Padmé nodded wordlessly. Yes.

And in a corner of the room, unseen to the couple as they embraced and kissed, the blue form of Qui-Gon Jinn wore a wide smile.

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
It’s been such a whirlwind week.

Obi-Wan and Anakin left this morning for their next mission to Muunilinst. No one knows how long they’ll be away, nor what precisely their mission will entail. Or at least, none of us civilians know. I’m upset about this, but I understand that it is necessary for the war effort.

Not for the first time, my emotions are conflicted. This is a different type of conflict, though – a kind that, if conflict is necessary, I am in some ways happy to have. A significant part of me is still grieving the loss of my child, and I plan to consult some of the healers whose contact information was given to me by the Medcenter. Talking to Obi-Wan, too, helped immeasurably. During the times we visited each other this week, we’ve cried over what was lost and discussed the future. I’m recovering, in a way I didn’t think would be possible.

Obi-Wan has made it very clear that he intends to become involved romantically with me upon his return – with, I might add, the full consent of Master Yoda and Mace Windu. They agreed that since he has served the Jedi in exemplary ways through his career, and has followed the Code as well as any Jedi could, he is to be permitted this small pleasure. Anakin is not to know, for we fear it would provoke jealousy.

While I’m sad about the circumstances under which this has happened, I am nevertheless happy and amazed and sometimes even giddy. Something I have wanted for six years is finally a possibility, and if I learned nothing else from the events on Geonosis, it’s that life is fleeting, and opportunities such as this must not be wasted.

I cannot wait until Obi-Wan returns.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Reconciliation

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
The last year and a half has affected me in more ways than I can express.

Obi-Wan and I admitted our love for each other, lost each other and found each other again. We recovered – are still recovering – from one of the most difficult events a parent can face. The death of a child. Although we didn’t know our little boy, he lives on in our hearts as surely as if he had been born healthy. And it’s a strange thing, but I feel like I know him sometimes. I can’t stop thinking about the dreams I had in the Medcenter. Did they truly mean something? Was my baby trying to say goodbye to me, in the only way he knew? I’d like to believe that he was, but I don’t know whether it’s true or not.

Other parts of my life have seemed quite literally like a dream come true. I know that must sound like one of those lines in a clichéd holonovel, but I can’t think of many other ways to describe how I feel. Loving Obi-Wan and realizing that he returns that love, fully and consciously and expressively, is … well, it’s wonderful. Even better is the fact that we are able to love one another without secrets, without fear that we will break Codes or rules or personal belief systems. He is still adjusting to the idea that he can love and be loved in return, which runs contrary to so much of what he has been taught, but I understand why he has difficulty and I try to be as accommodating as I can.

The war rages on, making it hard for us to see each other as often as we would like. Anakin and Obi-Wan return to Coruscant for a week or two weeks at a time, then are shipped back out again to defend some distant planet. I miss them terribly at these times, and though I try not to look at the casualty reports that come in over the HoloNet, I can’t help it. If someone I care about is to be harmed, I suppose I would prefer to be told immediately so that I could begin to grieve, rather than postponing it.

Still, the times that Obi-Wan and I are able to be together more than make up for the times when we must be apart. Most often he spends the night at my apartment, since my presence at the Jedi Temple would no doubt lead to awkward questions. The Medcenter technicians forbid me to be intimate for a few months after the miscarriage, and in all honesty I had little interest in it. Obi-Wan was, of course, very understanding about that, and there are many ways to express your love for another. We spent many happy nights cuddling on the couch, falling asleep in each other’s arms and having the occasional political debate. And when the ban was lifted, he was careful and gentle as he always is. He is a wonderful partner, both emotionally and physically.

The only concern that remains in my life – besides my ongoing grief and worry that Obi-Wan or Anakin or both will be killed on the battlefield – is the fact that I have not yet told my parents or sister about my relationship with Obi-Wan. Part of this is my own cowardice. I know Sola would be accepting, but my parents are different. We’ve fought so hard about “the Obi-Wan issue,” as they refer to it, over the years that I’m sure they would be automatically against it. Yet I can’t keep it a secret forever, especially if Obi-Wan and I decide we have a long future together. When I marry and have children, I want my mother and father to be involved. I want my children to know their grandparents, and I want them to share the Nubian tradition of family. Most of all, I want … if not the support of my family, at least the acknowledgment that I can make my own choices and be better for having done so. I’m tired of going around in the same circles with my parents, having the same arguments.

For better or worse, this charade needs to come to an end.

Something was tickling her hand. Not unlike what had happened in the Medcenter. But this time, Padmé smiled. What a wonderful dream … I have to wake up in an hour, and this will carry me through the day.

“Padmé,” whispered a clipped Coruscanti accent.

She grinned and turned over, enjoying the feel of his beard on her skin.

“Good morning, darling,” the voice continued. Breath on her cheek … then a soft touch on her lips.

Wait a minute … this dream is a bit too vivid.

Padmé’s eyes sprang open, and the first sight they met was Obi-Wan’s face, leaning over her, about to kiss her once more.

She gasped, and could barely restrain a shriek of delight. “Obi-Wan! You’re back!”

He was grinning too, and kissed her once, quickly, before her arms went around his neck and they embraced. “I wanted to surprise you,” Obi-Wan said, his voice muffled. “Did it work?”

“Did it – oh, goddesses, you wouldn’t believe how surprised I am!” Padmé exclaimed. She kissed him fiercely, making up for the long months of separation, then asked, “When did you land?”

“Just a few hours ago. Anakin fell asleep, and I reported to the Council and came here,” he explained. “Dormé let me in and I watched you sleep, but I couldn’t wait too long to wake you.”

“Mmm, no. What a wonderful way to wake up.” She softly stroked his cheek, glancing at her chrono. “And we have a whole hour together before I have to start dressing to be at the Senate.”

“Excellent.” Obi-Wan lay beside her, wrapping his arms around her in a gentle hug. “I missed you so much.”

Padmé leaned back into his embrace, breathing in the smells of sweat and cologne and everything else she loved about him. “I missed you too. That mission was the longest yet.”

“Yes, but it was a successful one,” Obi-Wan replied. “It’ll be all over the HoloNet today – Anakin saved an entire communications facility practically single-handed.”

“Really? That’s … amazing,” Padmé said in wonder. “Is he to receive any sort of reward or commendation for it? I mean – saving a communications facility, and doing it by himself …”

Obi-Wan hesitated briefly. “Well, I don’t suppose it would hurt to tell you. Anakin is to be knighted.”

Her face split into a wide grin. “Oh, Obi-Wan, that’s wonderful! You must be so proud.”

“I am,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Proud and … somewhat amazed, I suppose, in my ability to train him. Although much of that is a credit to him and his extraordinary skill.”

Padmé turned to face him, and he was smiling. “Obi-Wan, I’m sure you’ve been a wonderful Master. To see Anakin today is to know that. He’s benefited from your skill, your knowledge, your wisdom … and I think you have gained, too.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt of that. Anakin has taught me ten times more than I have taught him. It’s a truism of the Jedi Order, I suppose, that one’s training doesn’t really begin until one takes a Padawan learner. That has certainly been the case for me.”

“Well, I’m very proud of you and Anakin both,” she told him. “You’ve earned it.”

“Speaking of accomplishments, how’s the Senate proceeding?” Obi-Wan asked. “I’ll admit we don’t get very much news at the front. Or at least, nothing that hasn’t been through the HoloNet’s positive spin filters.”

Padmé rolled her eyes. “Be thankful. Things are deteriorating, faster than even the most skeptical Republic loyalists predicted they would. The Chancellor and his political cronies carve out chunks of our Constitution and bandage them with little scraps of security. It’s gotten to the point where Palpatine has a supermajority, so no one can really defeat him or oppose his policies. When a bill comes along to subvert the Constitution you can bet your last credit that he wrote it, no matter who is presenting it. He’s turning into a dictator, Obi-Wan. And no one seems able to stop it.”

“It’s really that bad?” He knew the war was having an impact on galactic government, but he hadn’t expected her to sound so disenchanted with it. “Is it the war that’s causing this?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure anymore,” Padmé replied. “Part of it is undoubtedly the war, but I sometimes get the impression that it’s all a front for something bigger. Like the war is … only a distraction. Something to divert our attention so that our freedoms can be subverted and opportunists can take over.”

“You should have been a Jedi, Padmé.” Obi-Wan was shaking his head. “Believe it or not, some in the Order have begun to think along those same lines.”

“But there isn’t really anything that can be done about it,” she countered. “As I said, Palpatine has his supermajority, and while he has it, he controls our government. The only way to wrest power away from him now is violently. And believe me when I say, no one wants to consider that option.”

“But the Chancellor keeps promising that his additional powers are only in effect for the duration of the emergency,” he reminded her.

Padmé snorted. “Yes, and only Palpatine himself has the power to decide when the emergency ends! Every day new bills are pushed upon him – or, should I say, he pushes them upon himself – and his line is always that he ‘has been forced to reluctantly accept the additional measures as a necessary part of ensuring the continuation of our secure society.’ I’m becoming afraid that one day, a bill will be brought forth that ‘forces him to reluctantly accept’ dictatorship for life!”

Her chest was heaving, and she was trembling with rage in Obi-Wan’s arms.

“I hadn’t realized how truly awful it was,” Obi-Wan said softly.

“It is, I promise you.” Padmé took deep breaths to calm herself. “I’m sorry; I just get so angry about it. We’re letting the Republic slip away, and it’s like some don’t even care. Goddesses, I shouldn’t even be talking about this. I promised myself there’d be no politics here.”

“Sorry, it’s my fault. I brought it up.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” she sighed. “I shouldn’t get so agitated, either.” She peeked at the chrono, then grinned coquettishly at him. “We still have forty minutes to waste on matters other than the state of our government.”

“I wonder, however shall we spend that time?” Obi-Wan grinned back, catching on.

“I can think of a few ways,” she murmured, sliding underneath him.

It was only when their kisses became frantic and needy that Padme was able to calm herself completely. And it was only with the explosion of sensation that accompanied his length sliding inside her that she could abandon the world around them, and pretend that it did not exist.

***

Padmé threw herself into her desk chair with a gusty sigh. It had been an exhausting morning, with Senators for and against Palpatine seemingly competing to see who could shout more loudly. She could feel the beginnings of a tension headache deep in her skull, which would not make the upcoming tasks any easier.

“Would you like some tea with lunch, m’lady?” the ever-perceptive Dormé asked.

“Yes, Dormé, thank you,” she replied, reaching for her comlink and mentally trying to summon some courage. Nothing is to be gained by delaying the inevitable, Padmé reminded herself. Somehow, those words gave her the necessary motivation to punch in a comlink number.

“Kenobi here,” said the owner of that number. She relaxed a little just hearing his voice.

“Obi-Wan, it’s Padmé. Are you … alone?”

“Relatively. Why?”

“Well, I had a – a question to ask you,” Padmé said hesitantly. “I was wondering if … if you have any leave coming up.”

“Leave?” Obi-Wan sounded politely puzzled. “I believe I do, after Anakin’s Knighting ceremony. Why do you ask?”

“I’d like you to come with me to Naboo for a visit,” she told him. “As a sort of … vacation, I guess. We would see my family, and go up to the Lake Country and spend a few days there, maybe have a picnic … what do you think?”

“Well, I …” He sounded genuinely pleased, if a little shocked, by the invitation. “I would love to! I’d have to make some excuses to Anakin, but I’m sure Mace and Yoda would understand. Later this week, perhaps?”

“Of – of course,” Padmé stammered, amazed at how quickly it was all falling into place. “There’s just one problem. I, um, I haven’t told my family about us yet.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan said. “When were you planning on telling them?”

“I’m going to comm my sister in a few minutes, but to be honest, I think the best way to tell my parents is just to walk into their house with you on my arm,” she admitted. “I’m hoping they’ll object to it less once they see that I’ve made the decision without their interference.”

Whatever opinions he might have held about her approach, Obi-Wan kept them close to his chest. He simply answered, “All right. Whatever you think is best, darling.”

“Thank you.” She was overcome with gratitude.

“Shall I come to you tonight?”

“When have I ever said no?”

“Fair point.” Obi-Wan was laughing by then. “See you later. I love you.”

“I love you,” Padmé whispered, and blew a kiss at the comlink, though she knew Obi-Wan could not see it.

She sank back into her chair with a relieved smile. The first mission had been accomplished successfully, and in some ways Padmé was bursting with excitement. Obi-Wan had agreed to come with her to Naboo! She would have him all to herself for at least a few days! It was what she’d dreamed of for a long time. And yet, if her parents caused any sort of trouble, the holiday might be over before it had even begun.

But Sola would understand.

Padmé took a sip of the soothing tea Dormé had placed on her desk, re-keyed the Level 10 privacy code she had used for her previous call, and punched in her sister’s comlink number.

“Sola Naberrie speaking.”

“Sola, hi! How are you?”

“Padmé!” exclaimed Sola. “Goddesses, you’re the last person I expected to hear from today! How are you doing?”

“Quite well, actually.” Padmé couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face as she thought of just how well she was in fact doing.

“That’s great! Yeah, you sound … happier.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know, just – light, excited, free,” Sola replied.

“I suppose I am,” Padmé told her. “I wanted to let you know that I’m coming to Naboo for a visit in about a week. Just so that you don’t die of shock when I turn up on your doorstep.”

Sola laughed. “Don’t worry, I don’t think I would. It’d make a wonderful surprise, anyway.”

A wonderful surprise … Padmé gathered her courage. “I also want to tell you … that I’ll be bringing someone else with me. Someone who isn’t part of any security detail.”

That distinction was important, since Padmé had so often been surrounded by various collections of bodyguards over the years, and Sola knew it.

“Oh?” She sounded very intrigued. “And who might this someone else be?”

“It might be – well, it might be Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Padmé was blushing before she had even finished saying his name.

“Obi-Wan? Oh, Padmé, that’s terrific!” Sola cried. “I’m so happy for you! So you’re seeing each other now?”

“I still can’t believe it myself,” confessed Padmé. “But he loves me very much. And what’s more, we have the permission of two members of the Jedi Council to proceed with our relationship. Obi-Wan’s outstanding service record and his level of dedication to the Order have persuaded the Council that the relationship should be allowed.”

“I’m proud of you, sis,” said Sola sincerely. “I really am. You’ve followed your heart, and one only has to listen to your voice to know how happy you are. How content with your life you seem to be.”

“But Sola, I’m afraid. Obi-Wan and I are coming to Naboo in a week, and … we’re going to be at Mom and Dad’s. What will they say? You know how they’ve disapproved of the very idea of us being together!”

“Come anyway. Don’t worry about what Mom and Dad will think! How can you be so sure they’ll be upset? Once they find out that Obi-Wan has the permission of the Council, they may well change their minds.”

“Perhaps, though I find it unlikely,” Padmé replied cynically. “Personally, I’m prepared for the worst. But I want you to know … I want you to know that your support means more to me than anything. You gave me the courage to proceed with this, Sola, and I’m so glad I did. I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.”

“Don’t. As long as you’re happy, baby sister, that’s the best reward for me. I only want you to be happy.”

“And I want you to stop calling me ‘baby sister,’” groaned Padmé, but she was smiling. “When will it occur to you that I’ve grown up?”

“Oh, come on, that’s part of my job!” Sola chuckled. “You can’t deny me that one little pleasure.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“You’ll still be my baby sister, even when you’re old and grey,” promised Sola.

***

Her hands were cold and clammy, and she was sweating. Worst of all, Padmé had the distinct feeling that her stomach was about to rebel completely and hurl her breakfast into the nearby bushes. She couldn’t ever remember being so nervous, not even the first time she’d had to address the Senate as Queen of Naboo.

Obi-Wan, for his part, was surprisingly calm, and betrayed no emotion other than concern for her. “Are you all right?” he asked worriedly.

“I’m … I’m just so scared,” Padmé replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if they don’t accept that I’m with you? What if they try to cut us off from each other again? I – I can’t have that happen!” Tears slipped slowly down her cheeks.

He took her in his arms, stroking her hair softly. “Padme, shhh,” Obi-Wan murmured. “It’s all right. No matter what they say, we are not going to let them separate us. We’ll still be together, whether your parents approve or not. I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, seemingly suddenly to become embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to get so upset. I just can’t help but be frightened. I remember what it was like three years ago, and … I never want to go through that again.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Obi-Wan said gently. “It’s understandable. But I want you to know that your parents’ reaction will make no difference to my love for you. I will always love you, Padmé.” He lifted her chin and planted a soft kiss on her lips. “I know that as surely as I know my own name.”

Padmé smiled weakly, and in the Force, he noted that she was calmer. “Thank you, Obi-Wan. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

In answer, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they continued to walk down the street.

As had happened the last time she visited her family, Ryoo and Pooja ran out ahead of Sola to greet their aunt. Seeing her entwined in such a romantic way with a man they didn’t know, however, made them stop short.

“Ryoo! Pooja!” Padmé exclaimed, shrugging free of Obi-Wan’s embrace and running to hug her nieces. “How are you girls? I’ve missed you both very much!”

They hugged her back, but both were eyeing the stranger. “Auntie Padmé, who’s that?” asked Pooja, pointing to Obi-Wan.

“Yeah, is he your boyfriend?” Ryoo said.

Padmé laughed. “In a manner of speaking. Girls, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi. He and I have been seeing each other for about a year now.”

“Are you guys gonna get married?” Pooja wanted to know. “Then he’d be our uncle!”

“I suppose I would,” Obi-Wan agreed, shaking the girls’ hands. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you, too, sir,” said Ryoo, solemnly looking up at him.

“Padmé, hi!” Sola’s voice rang out behind them as she came running out of the house and embraced her sister. “It’s wonderful to see you again! And this …” Her eyes drifted to Obi-Wan. “This must be the Obi-Wan Kenobi I’ve heard so much about.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Sola, isn’t it? I think I’ve heard almost as much about you.”

“You probably have,” Sola agreed amiably, shaking his hand and then appraising him from top to bottom. “Well, my baby sister has taste if nothing else.”

Padmé gave Sola a swat on the arm, and Obi-Wan blushed to the roots of his hair.

They began to walk towards the house together, Padmé holding tightly to Obi-Wan’s hand, Sola chattering away next to them and Ryoo and Pooja skipping happily ahead. Sola held the door open for the couple, and they stepped nervously inside.

“Mom, Dad, Padmé’s here!” Sola shouted.

“Yeah,” Ryoo chimed in, “and she’s brought a –”

Sola clapped her hand over the girl’s mouth before she could continue. “That’ll do, honey,” she said. “Why don’t you guys go and get the pictures you drew of Artoo? I’m sure your aunt would love to see them.”

Padmé smiled gratefully at her sister, but next second, that smile vanished as her parents came into the hall.

“Padmé, dear!” Jobal exclaimed, striding past Obi-Wan as if he were a hat stand. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re home. I worry so, with all of the news on the HoloNet. It’s so frightening.” She hugged her daughter tightly.

“Padmé,” Ruwee said in a voice of deadly quiet, “why is Obi-Wan Kenobi with you? I thought your mother and I made it quite clear that you were not to associate with him. Is he protecting you?”

“Dear, what in the galaxy are you –” began Jobal, and next second she had jumped away from the Jedi as though he was a womp rat. “Goddesses! What is he doing here?”

Padmé bit her lip. Words were failing her suddenly, and she hated that it had to happen now. “He – he’s not protecting me,” she said lamely.

“Padmé and Obi-Wan have been seeing each other in a romantic capacity for about a year now,” Sola put in. “They believe that now the time is right to let the family know.”

“Oh, my goodness. Is this true, Padmé?” Jobal gasped.

Obi-Wan grasped her hand, squeezing gently, and she found herself able to recover some of her lost strength. She lifted her chin to stare defiantly into her parents’ eyes. “Yes, Mom, it’s true. And I’ll have you know that we intend to continue this relationship, no matter what your views on the subject may be.”

With that, she turned and led Obi-Wan into the living room, where they seated themselves on the couch. Much to Padmé’s displeasure, both her parents followed, dropping into chairs on the opposite side of the room. The battle lines had been drawn, and it was a scene remarkably similar to that which had taken place three years previously.

“But – but – but the Jedi Code!” Ruwee blustered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair with a look of complete bewilderment. “The Council! I thought they forbid attachments!”

“In this case, somewhat of an exception has been made,” Obi-Wan spoke up. “The two most senior members of the Council are aware that Padmé and I are together, and have given their consent based upon my service record and the fact that I have otherwise followed the Jedi Code in an exemplary manner.”

“Obi-Wan recently completed the training of his first Padawan Apprentice,” added Padmé. “Anakin – I’m sure you remember him, he was my protector a year ago after those assassination attempts – has now been promoted to full Knighthood.”

“That’s great!” Sola exclaimed from the doorway to the living room. “Be sure to pass on my congratulations!”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Thank you, I will.”

There was a very pregnant pause.

Then, “But whether or not they have the permission of the Jedi Council is not the issue here!” Jobal exploded suddenly. “The issue is that Padmé has deliberately gone against our wishes, disobeying us for over a year now! Honestly, I would never have believed it of you. You were always such a good girl!”

“Perhaps,” Padmé acknowledged quietly. “But Mom, the past year, everything that’s gone on in the Senate and with the war, and me on Geonosis sentenced to death … it made me realize that life is not a commodity to be wasted. It’s a precious gift, and it can be snatched away so easily. I’ve changed, and I’m not your little girl anymore. I’ll always be your daughter, and I will always love you both very much. But the time has come for me to make some of my own decisions about life. I apologize if that offends you, however, that’s just the way things are. I could die tomorrow. So could Obi-Wan. And we’ve agreed that when it’s our time to go, we don’t want to be burdened with regrets. I’ve never wanted to regret anything about my life.”

Silence reigned for a few moments, then Ruwee said slowly, “Padmé … you’ve grown up.”

That’s exactly what I said to Anakin once, Padmé thought, and the memory brought a small smile to her lips.

“My baby girl,” Ruwee continued. “I’ve watched you rule as my Queen, and debate Republic politics as my Senator, and the thought never occurred to me that you were anything but a child. Now … now you stand before me, and you’re a young woman. A very beautiful young woman.” He chuckled slightly. “I guess I’m going to have to let go one of these days.”

Jobal blinked at him. “But dear,” she began in a tone of seemingly forced calm, “you can’t possibly be saying that we should allow this relationship. Are you?”

“Padmé has to follow her own path,” Ruwee reminded his wife. “No one can choose it for her. Least of all us. It wouldn’t be right.”

“But – but –” Jobal stammered, apparently too flummoxed to speak coherently.

“Mrs. Naberrie, I love your daughter very much,” Obi-Wan said, squeezing Padmé’s hand again. “I have loved her for three years. And I promise you that no harm will come to her, either by my hand or anyone else’s. I’ll always protect her, and I’ll always love her.”

Padmé smiled gratefully at him, and he kissed her on the cheek.

Jobal heaved a final sigh. “Well … all right,” she said at last. “I know when I’m licked.”

And then, as if by unspoken agreement, Padmé and her parents met in the middle of the room, hugging one another in a clumsy three-person embrace. It did not erase every bad feeling, nor every harsh word. But the first attempts had been made at a peace, and a three-year-old family wound finally began to close.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

A Port in the Storm

“Tell me,” Obi-Wan prodded.

Padmé shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not!”

“I told you my most embarrassing moment, now it’s your turn!”

True. Padmé couldn’t deny that.

“Oh, all right.” She gave a loud sigh of resignation and picked at a corner of the picnic blanket. “I was fourteen, and it was a few months after I’d been elected Queen. Just before the Trade Federation blockade, as a matter of fact. I had to open the new medical center in Theed, it was this big fancy ribbon-cutting affair and all these dignitaries were supposed to attend. I had this traditional ceremonial shirt and pants to wear. The problem was, when the outfit arrived on the day of the ceremony, it was about four sizes too big for me.”

“Oh, dear,” Obi-Wan said.

“Exactly,” Padmé grinned. “The tailor must have got my measurements mixed up with a Wookiee’s or something. Anyway, there wasn’t time to make any alterations, so I put it on all the same and headed for the ceremony. About halfway there I realized there was a big problem: my pants just would not stay up, no matter what I did.”

Obi-Wan was shaking with suppressed laughter. “I think I can see where this is going.”

Padmé rolled her eyes. “You probably can. Sabé tried to pin the pants up, and that worked until I was in front of the crowd and about to cut the ribbon. Just as I moved the laser into position, I felt the pins falling out, and next thing I know I’m standing in front of practically the entire population of Theed in my underwear with half my outfit around my ankles. Thank goddesses I was wearing underwear.”

“What in the galaxy did you do?”

“I ran,” Padmé confessed. “I was supposed to give this big speech after I’d cut the ribbon, but there was no way I could have done that with my pants having fallen down. I burst into tears and I ran into the medical center, and I wouldn’t come out until the crowd had dispersed. I was so embarrassed. I was afraid they were going to call me the Queen of the Underpants for the rest of my term. And well they might have, had the Trade Federation not invaded the very next week. That distracted everyone’s attention.”

She grinned up at him, repositioning her head in his lap. “So are you happy now, Master Jedi?”

Obi-Wan rested a hand on her stomach and massaged in light concentric circles. “Yes, very. I think that’s what I’ll have to start calling you from now on. The Queen of the Underpants.”

Padmé gave him a smack. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Maybe I would and maybe I wouldn’t,” he smiled. “But you’ve got to admit, it’s too good of a nickname to pass up.”

“You’re lucky I’m so relaxed,” she remarked. “Otherwise you’d be in big trouble.”

“Yes, the Lake Country has that effect on people,” Obi-Wan replied, conveniently sidestepping her jibe.

Padmé turned her head slightly, gazing over the wide green field before them. They had set up their picnic on almost the exact spot where she and Anakin spent a happy afternoon two years ago, and the scenery was no less idyllic. But now … now she was much happier, because Obi-Wan was with her and she had no obligations for the moment but to lie in his lap as he stroked her hair softly.

Except …

“Obi-Wan,” she said suddenly, “did I ever tell you about the dream I had in the Medcenter? After I lost the baby?”

She felt him tense a little under her, but he grasped her hand and gave a comforting squeeze. “No, I don’t believe you did, darling.”

Padmé took a deep breath and, buoyed by his touch, recounted the dream: sailing with Obi-Wan and their child on the way to Varykino, the water fight, and the meeting in the field. “So,” she finished up, “I’m just not sure what to think. Was the baby – or the Force, I suppose – trying to send me a message, or was it just the medicine? It’s so hard to tell.”

Obi-Wan was silent for several moments. “Padmé, have you ever been tested for Force sensitivity?” he asked finally.

“Well – yes,” Padmé said, slightly taken aback. “Two Jedi Knights came to my house when I was really young … one year old at most. They gave me a blood test. Mom was really upset about it because she thought they were going to take me. But in the end, I tested just below the threshold of what they accept, and so they let me stay. After that day, Mom never discussed the idea of Force sensitivity again, and she hardly mentioned the Jedi. I only know all this because Sola told me when I was older and curious about the Order.”

“It’s possible – not completely assured, but possible – that you may have received some sort of message from the Force,” Obi-Wan replied. “Admittedly Force visions and dreams are not my area of expertise, but what you’ve described sounds like it might have been such a vision.”

“Do you think it was the baby?” Padmé asked softly.

Again he was silent for several moments, and when she looked up, she could see his eyes glistening.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” she whispered.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and ran his hand through her hair again. “Don’t apologize. It’s just … sometimes, when I least expect it …”

“It creeps up on you, doesn’t it,” she completed. “The healers told me that would happen.”

“Mmm.” He gave her a gentle hug, seemingly as much to reassure himself as her.

Both were silent for several minutes, during which time the Force ghost of Qui-Gon Jinn flickered into being just behind Obi-Wan. The ghost held himself carefully so as not to be seen by either of the couple.

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan said after awhile, “do you ever think about the possibility of – of having another child? Trying again, I mean.” He reached down to stroke her cheek softly.

She plucked at a blade of grass, clutching his hand to her cheek as she considered. “I haven’t thought about it lately, no. I guess I just wanted time to grieve for the baby I lost, before getting pregnant again.”

“Of course. That’s perfectly understandable. I feel that way too.”

“And at this point in my life … well, it would be hard. I can’t help examining it from a logical standpoint, that’s just how I am,” Padmé mused. “And right now, I’ve got my work in the Senate, which I don’t plan to give up anytime soon, and you’re off fighting the war on so many different worlds. Our child would have to be raised by a caregiver, and I really – Obi-Wan, what is it?”

For his face had suddenly split into a wide smile.

“You – you said our child,” he whispered, and close to she could see his eyes moistening. “I didn’t think – I mean, I wasn’t sure –”

“Obi-Wan, of course it would be with you,” she smiled. “I love you. I couldn’t think of being with anyone else.”

“Not even Anakin?” His grin was teasing this time.

Padmé gave him a swat. “No, of course not Anakin! He’s a good friend, but goddesses, I still think of him as a little boy sometimes. Even though I shouldn’t. I could never picture doing – well, that with him.” Her face grew hot.

Obi-Wan was reddening as well. “In–indeed. And to be completely honest, he doesn’t need that distraction in his life at the moment. Or that confusion.”

She sobered quickly at that. “I feel badly sometimes that we’re keeping this secret from him. And … and I have to be honest with you too, Obi-Wan. When I came home from the medical centre, Anakin was at my apartment and … I told him that I’d had a miscarriage.”

“You what?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened for just a moment, and Padmé felt her irritation rising despite the pastoral surroundings. She sat up to look Obi-Wan directly in the eye.

“Yes, Obi-Wan, I told him, and I told him the child was yours,” she said. “The miscarriage was a secret I didn’t feel I could keep from him. Ani is my friend. But more than that, he trusts me. It’s almost childlike, the level of faith that exists there. How was I to betray that faith by lying to him?”

“You’re lying to him right now just by virtue of being here,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Unless you’re trying to tell me that you did, in fact, divulge the reason for your sudden trip to Naboo?”

Padmé took that without a blink. “No, I didn’t tell him. And that’s something I’m going to have to come to terms with. Perhaps I will let him know, in the future. But I want you to accord Anakin some respect. He isn’t a thermal detonator that needs to be tiptoed around. He’s a very bright young man, with thoughts and feelings and insights. And sometimes what he needs the most isn’t a role model. It’s a friend.”

“But the Code –” began Obi-Wan.

“Oh, blast that Code,” Padmé interrupted. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, don’t even try to tell me that you weren’t a lot more attached to Qui-Gon than the Code would have permitted.”

The ghost gave an approving smile.

“Yes, and it nearly led me to the Dark Side upon his death,” Obi-Wan countered. “When I first attacked Maul, I did so with anger and revenge in my heart. It was only when I refocused my mind away from those emotions that I was able to feel the Living Force and defeat the Sith.”

“All right, so what about this?” challenged Padmé. “What about us, here, now? Surely just the act of being here represents contravention of your marvelous Code in the extreme, does it not?” Her voice began to take on the imperious tone usually reserved for political encounters.

“Don’t even try it, Obi-Wan,” the ghost advised with a chuckle as his former Padawan opened his mouth to retaliate. “No one can cut down Senator Amidala when she’s in full debate mode.”

Possibly Obi-Wan heeded those words, or perhaps his own analysis of the situation showed further argument to be foolish. Whatever the reason, he softened and sat back. “Love … can do many strange things to people.”

He picked Padmé’s hand up off the picnic blanket and brought it to his lips, planting a gentle kiss.

Even Senator Amidala could not resist that gesture, and the formal trappings fell quickly away. Padmé smiled, remembering her sister’s words. “Yes. Yes it can.”

Sated, the argument forgotten for the moment, she lay back in Obi-Wan’s lap. He wrapped his arms around her, and she relaxed.

“You’ll always be a politician, no matter the mold in which I attempt to remake you,” Obi-Wan smiled.

“And you, darling, will always be a Jedi,” Padmé returned, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

***

The rest of the afternoon was spent peacefully, relaxing in the field, finishing the picnic amid a few friendly debates. Come evening the couple returned to the lake resort for a meal served by Nandi and Teckla, the cooks, and an early retirement to their shared bed.

While Obi-Wan finished up in the fresher, Padmé changed into a soft white nightgown and strolled out to the upper balcony. With a small sigh she rested her arms on the railing, looking out over the lake. So peaceful and calm at this time of night, not unlike her own countenance at the moment. If only I could stay like this forever, she thought. Away from the stress, away from the pressure, away from the war. With Obi-Wan. Padmé knew, though, that however idealistic that scenario might sound, her activist side could not easily be suppressed. Sooner or later she would want to return and become involved in galactic affairs. And Obi-Wan … well, he was a Jedi. Compassion for other beings was just in his nature. And as she had told him many times, she would not allow him to give that up just for her. Nor, she suspected, did he want to.

Presently Padmé felt a hand on her shoulder, drawing her into a gentle backwards embrace. She smiled, reaching her hands down to clasp his.

“It’s chilly,” Obi-Wan noted. “You should come inside.”

Padmé turned to kiss him softly. “I’m all right,” she replied once their lips had parted. “I’m used to it, anyway. Coming out here at nights to think like this was one of my favourite things to do when I was a little girl.”

The image of her as a child brought a smile to Obi-Wan’s face. “What were you thinking about just now? You looked … far away. Wistful.”

“Oh … us. Here. A part of me wishes we could stay here forever, just like this, with no politics or pressures or wars. But the other part knows we can’t do that.” Padmé smiled ruefully. “Maybe someday.”

“Maybe.” Obi-Wan slid his hands up to cup her breasts, massaging lightly. “Maybe someday we’ll live here all the time. We’ll have three children, and every day we’ll take them on a picnic in that field.”

Padmé closed her eyes and smiled, enjoying the sensations rushing through her. “Mmm … that sounds wonderful.”

“And Anakin will come visit us when he has leave, and he’ll teach the children to ride shaaks bareback, and your parents can stay with us if they want …”

“But only when we’d like a little time to ourselves,” Padmé said, getting into the spirit of things. “The rest of the time, it’ll be just us. Us and the kids. Waking up to each other each morning … celebrating lifedays … telling stories of all your dazzling exploits …”

“My dazzling exploits?” Obi-Wan chuckled and kissed the back of her neck. “What about yours? Liberating an entire planet almost singlehandedly –”

“I did have help, you know,” Padmé interrupted, but only half-heartedly; the prickles of his beard on her skin were proving quite distracting.

“– more than holding your own in the Battle of Geonosis, over and above many other competent fighters –”

“I had help there too.”

“Goodness, you’re starting to sound like me,” smiled Obi-Wan. “Everyone’s always telling me I’m too modest about my accomplishments.”

“You are,” Padmé insisted, turning to face him fully now and resting her head against his chest.

“So are you,” he pointed out, and they both laughed.

The couple stood there for a moment, embracing tightly, before Obi-Wan kissed her forehead and whispered, “I’m afraid that if we don’t go inside soon, this will become indecent.”

Padmé grinned. “Oh, is that so, Master Jedi?”

His hand trailed from her cheek down to her chest, moving lower. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s so.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck in response. “Well, perhaps we’d best go into the bedroom so you can have your way with me.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkled. “I’d like that very much.”

Without a further word, he scooped her into his arms and carried her back through the doorway, using the Force to flick the switch closing the plasteel partition leading to the balcony. Padmé kissed him once, then whispered in his ear, “Right here.”

“Mmm?”

“Put me down here. Against the wall. Let’s try something new.”

“As you wish, m’lady,” he said, and set her down gently against the wall nearest the bed. “Feeling … adventurous this evening?”

“I might be,” Padmé smiled. “I just want to do it differently, that’s all.” She began slinking the straps of her nightshirt down off her shoulders. “I didn’t think you’d object.”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to object,” Obi-Wan corrected, brushing her hands gently away and completing the removal of the nightgown. Callused fingers drifted over her chest as the shirt dropped to the floor, eliciting a soft moan of desire. Next second, it was stifled as their lips met once more.

Padmé’s hand snaked between them, moving down to the drawstring of Obi-Wan’s sleep pants. A sharp intake of breath announced her arrival at a significant area, and next second, the pants too had been shed.

Softly, tremulously, she grasped the engorged organ, stroking gently along its length. A growl wrenched itself from Obi-Wan’s throat, and his kisses became more aggressive, more demanding, yet needy at the same time. With her free hand, Padmé drew him closer, then wrapped one leg around his hip as his length slid into her.

“P-Padmé,” Obi-Wan gasped, momentarily pausing in his kisses. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and she couldn’t remember ever being looked at in such an erotic manner. “W-what’s gotten – gotten into you?”

She kissed him again, and again, and the only reply she could think to make was, “I love you.”

Further need for discussion was obviated as he grasped her waist and began thrusting slowly, then with more intensity when she locked her legs around him and moved to his rhythms. And all the while, he was kissing her, and she was kissing back, both breaking only when the need for oxygen became desperate. His hands were feeling up and down her back now, gently massaging and touching the scars remaining from her Geonosis encounter.

She could feel her climax approaching, and swiftly arched her hips to expedite the process. At last it broke over her, an ecstasy of pleasure, accentuated by the fire in Obi-Wan’s eyes and the continued touch of his fingers on her back. He followed several moments later, unable to restrain himself as her muscles clenched around him, slumping forward and whispering her name.

Padmé leaned against the wall, exhausted but exhilarated. Obi-Wan held her still, allowing her to relax against him as he slowly withdrew. Giddily, she smiled.

“We need to do this more often, apparently,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“What, this in general? Or this, up against the wall?” she teased.

“Mmm, both.” He let out a long breath, still panting slightly.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Padmé admitted. “I just thought … that would be fun.”

“And it was.” Obi-Wan brushed his wet hair out of his eyes, planting a soft kiss on her lips. “Feel free to approach me like that anytime you like, darling. Anytime.”

She ran soft fingers along his cheek. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nuzzled her several times, then picked her up once more and carried her over to the bed. “How about a more traditional locale, m’lady? It has the added benefit of being comfortable when we collapse.”

“You are insatiable, you know that?” Padmé laughed and rolled to her side so that she was facing him as he climbed in. She bent to kiss his nose. “And I don’t mind that. Not one bit.”

Obi-Wan stroked her hair. “Perhaps I’m just making up for lost time.”

“Lost time …” She sighed, suddenly wistful. How much time has been lost because I didn’t pursue Obi-Wan after my parents told me not to? How much time has been lost while he’s been off fighting this wretched war?

How much time do we both have left, for moments like this?

“Credit for your thoughts?” Obi-Wan asked, concerned.

“I don’t know.” Padmé lay back on the pillow. “When you said ‘lost time,’ it just made me think of all the time we’ve probably lost. Because of my parents. Because of the war. I want this to go on forever, I want us to live here and have children as we discussed, but … is that ever really going to happen? Or is it just some fantasy we cooked up to make ourselves feel better?”

Obi-Wan looked thoughtful and reached his hand up to caress her cheek. “Qui-Gon always told me that I should be mindful of the future, but not at the expense of the present. One of his favourite things to say was, ‘Keep your mind on the here and now where it belongs.’ Perhaps this is one of those times where we should heed his advice.”

“It’s hard, though,” Padmé said. “So much of what I do is based on what may or may not happen in the future. Things like – you know, if I’ve got a meeting tomorrow, I need to prepare for it, if the Chancellor passes such and such a motion I need to write a response speech. I’ve stopped thinking about the present for my career, so I suppose it makes sense that I wouldn’t do it for my personal life.”

He gathered her in his arms for another series of kisses. “That’s a skill we shall have to practice, then.”

Padmé’s smile was wide and coquettish. “You think so, do you?”

Obi-Wan grinned too. “Yes, I’m afraid I do.”

It was a long time before they stopped “practicing.”

***

Resting purely in the Living Force, the ghost probed the future.

He did not allow himself to do so often – that was more Yoda’s department – but occasionally, the right opportunity presented itself. He felt almost guilty for doing so. After all, how many times, in life, had he told his young Padawan that a focus on the present was just as important? Clearly, this was advice that Obi-Wan still took to heart if his conversation with Padmé had been any indication.

The ghost opened his mind, sinking into a meditative trance. The atmosphere of the Lake Country was particularly useful for this. He could see why Padmé loved it. So peaceful, and quiet. The night air hummed with soft anticipation.

Something was about to happen.

A divergence of two paths … clearly marked, from this moment on …

Whatever occurred tonight, for better or worse, would shape the future.

Two stars separated from one another. They swirled around, to be joined shortly by a third. The clashing of lightsabers … red, blue, green, flick-flick-flick … so fast that even the ghost could not determine their source.

He found himself in the bedroom. Why he had ended up there, the ghost could not tell, but nor was it his job to interpret what he saw. The Force had a reason for showing him these visions; his duty was only to absorb them.

Obi-Wan and Padmé lay asleep, entwined with each other after an intimate night. Obi-Wan’s hand rested lightly on Padmé’s abdomen, massaging softly in his sleep.

An explosion.

The Living Force shone so brightly around the bed that the ghost had to shield his eyes.

And the stars were rising … rising from Padmé, rising up toward the ceiling. Shining brightly. Lightsabers again … blue, red, green … Palpatine’s low tones, mingled with a strange male voice the ghost did not know. It had overtones of familiarity, but …

“Your overconfidence is your weakness,” the voice was saying.

“Your faith in love is yours,” Palpatine returned.

***

She felt him before she’d even opened her eyes.

Soft touches – strokes, almost – on her back, sliding down to grasp her buttocks through the sheets, then back up again. Obi-Wan seemed to be exploring her body, and she smiled broadly at the thought. Kept her eyes closed. Allowed him to reach around to the front, cupping her breasts and swirling a finger around each of her nipples before moving lower, to her navel. Finally cracking open her lids when his hand reached the dark curls below.

Padmé smiled again, pressing herself into him and feeling direct evidence of his need at her back. “Good morning,” she murmured.

“Morning,” Obi-Wan replied, and he sounded more relaxed than she had ever heard. “Did you sleep well?”

“Wonderfully. I’ll never get tired of waking up to you.”

“Nor will I.” He continued his ministrations. “I’ve wanted this for so long now.”

Padmé turned to face him, unable to keep the wistfulness from her voice. “I wish this could go on forever,” she whispered, stroking his cheek.

Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened for just a moment. “I know. I do too. But it can’t.”

She kissed him softly. “Someday, Obi-Wan. Someday we’ll come back here, and have all the time in the world. I don’t know when that will be, but … I know it will happen.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “I never thought I’d say this, but I wish I could stop time. I’d stop it right here, so I wouldn’t have to go back,” he murmured into her hair.

“But you don’t have to go back yet … do you?” Padmé asked, suddenly worried.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. “Before you woke up, my comlink went off. It was Master Windu, he … he said that Asajj Ventress has been reported as heading for somewhere in the Outer Rim, and Anakin and I have been ordered to go after her. I’m to report to Theed two standard hours from now to catch a transport back to Coruscant for the mission briefing.”

“What?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “But – but we were supposed to have two more days together! You booked a week of shore leave!” Unwillingly Padmé felt tears gathering in her eyes.

“I know, and part of me wonders whether this isn’t just another wild bantha chase,” Obi-Wan said. “But I don’t have a choice.”

She took a deep breath, trying to recover her composure. She had to be cheerful, for his sake. “Is – is it somewhere close to Coruscant?”

“The Outer Rim,” he replied grimly. “If we don’t catch her we could be stuck out there for a very long time, given the sieges going on now. I don’t expect they’ll bring us back from the front. Every available fighter is needed at the moment.”

Padmé managed a shaky smile. “Well, maybe it won’t be for too long this time. Maybe you will catch her, and you’ll be back before you know it.”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan echoed, but his face was distant, sad. She could feel his hands massaging her back, probing gently, almost as though trying to memorize every inch of her.

Padmé took a deep breath, willing herself to adopt an upbeat tone. “Well … if you have to go … I want our last hour together to be happy. So that when you’re off fighting the war, and I’m back on Coruscant, we can remember this moment with joy, rather than with sorrow. Please?”

He was silent for several moments, as though thinking hard, and then suddenly seemed to come to a decision. “You’re right, Padmé. Let’s spend this time like we’ve spent the rest of our getaway. Remembering times like this was all that got me through my last mission. Well, and my duty.”

“Yes, of course,” Padmé said. “We’re both dedicated to duty. Nothing will ever change that.”

“The curse of conscience, I suppose,” Obi-Wan remarked.

She kissed him again, without responding this time, and he returned it, finally feeling able to give himself again to the invitation. Obi-Wan trailed his fingers down her neck, stopping again to pluck and tweak at her nipples. Padmé moaned softly, pressing against his touch.

He moved lower, his faint touch feeling like wind whispering across her skin. “Wait,” Padmé whispered. “Why do you always get to have all the fun? I think it’s my turn, Master Jedi.”

“As you wish,” he smiled, and lay back on the bed. “But I do so enjoy it, m’lady.”

“Not this time, Obi-Wan.” Padmé lifted herself into position, kissing him again and copying his touches on the warm, smooth skin of his abdomen. “This time, I take the lead.”

He watched in wonderment as she went lower, and then all conscious thought evaporated as she stopped to fondle his sac and simultaneously wrap slender fingers around the length above it.

When had she learned to do such marvelous things with her hands?

A series of incoherent grunts rippled from his throat as the fingers moved, up and down – not in the roughest of ways, and not in the manner he typically used to pleasure himself, but gently and full of feeling. And the knowledge that it was not just anyone doing this, but his love … the thought nearly brought him to climax right there and then. It was only by releasing the arousal into the Force that he was able to hold off the inevitable.

Her eyes were a sultry brown as she continued to gaze, not at her current task, but at his face. She was gauging his reactions, wanting to see the effect she had on him. Moisture was forming on his forehead, his hands grasping the blankets as though they were a lifeline. His eyes clenched tightly shut, he was focusing on her essence in the Force. It shone as brightly as any star.

The touches stopped, and his eyes flew simultaneously open. He had just given himself permission to surrender to the urge, and suddenly the stimulus was no longer there.

“Padmé …” It came out almost as a whine.

“Sit up, Obi-Wan.” Her voice dripped with passion, and he immediately complied.

She moved over, climbing onto his lap, and slid his length inside her body. Wrapped her arms around him and began to move slowly, locking her legs as she had done the previous night. Enchanted, Obi-Wan held her as she was holding him, following her rhythms and picking up speed when she did. Gently they clasped each other, lovers performing an erotic duel, both cognizant of the fact that they had little time.

Padmé quickened her pace further as she sensed her peak approaching, and seconds later, it broke over her in a single flash of white-hot light. Obi-Wan pulled her close, and they fell back onto the bed together, each moaning the other’s name as he filled her. She lay on top of him, unwilling to let go.

“Padmé,” he murmured, stroking her hair.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know you have to go. I was just trying to drag it out for as long as I could.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Obi-Wan replied huskily. “What I was going to say was … thank you. For this.”

Padmé blinked, momentarily confused. “I love you, Obi-Wan. I just wanted us to be happy before you left.”

“This will be my refuge from the war,” he told her. “When I’m in the Outer Rim, after a hard day of battle … I can look back upon this moment and feel happiness. I’m around so much death fighting this Force-forsaken war … what we’ve just done is an act of life.” His voice cracked, and she looked up to see that his eyes were full of tears.

She wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug. “I wish things could be different.”

“There’s no sense wishing,” Obi-Wan sighed. “It’s our duty to go back to our lives, whether we like it or not.”

“One day we’ll come back here,” Padmé promised. “One day we’ll have the life we talked about. One day that will happen. I know it.”

They rolled over and he pulled out slowly, savouring the moment. One last kiss, long and desperate and needy, trying to make up for those that would not be exchanged in the next months. One last caress. One last time to press their bodies together.

Then it was over.

Then Padmé was reaching for Obi-Wan’s hand, and he was climbing out of bed, and she was letting go, and he was pulling on his tunics. Neither wanted the moment to end. Both knew it already had.

“You’d better stay here for now,” Obi-Wan advised, buckling his tabard and attaching his lightsaber. “It’ll look a bit strange if we’re both seen leaving the resort. Especially together. Wait an hour, then follow me. I expect Captain Typho will be at the palace to take you back to Coruscant.”

“All right,” Padmé murmured. Her face was pressed into the pillow to conceal her tears. She didn’t want this, she didn’t want to cry, not now, it would just make him feel worse …

“Padmé.” A touch on her shoulder, and involuntarily she turned. He was looking at her, in full dress, concerned.

Two more tears slipped down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she said miserably. “I didn’t want it to be like this. I don’t mean to get so upset …”

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for both of us.” He sat on the side of the bed and pulled her into a warm embrace. Padmé could feel her tears wetting the front of his tunic as her shoulders shook. She regretted it, but could not seem to stop the flood.

And Obi-Wan did not complain. He did not say that there was little time left for him to leave the resort to make the transport in Theed. He did not enumerate the consequences that might arise from him missing that transport.

He held her.

And she cried.

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
The resort seems so much emptier without Obi-Wan.

I’m dressed now, sitting on the front veranda waiting for Paddy and the staff to finish loading my luggage onto the boat. It won’t take too much longer. After that, who knows when I will return?

I still feel embarrassed at having lost control the way I did when Obi-Wan was about to leave. I didn’t intend it to happen. It just … did, and once I started to cry I could not seem to stop. It’s all the stress of the past year and a half coming back. The negotiations in the Senate, Palpatine’s manipulations, the miscarriage, Obi-Wan and I constantly having to leave each other. I was crying for the life I should have had, at home with my husband and children. I was crying for the life that I have now, the life that I would not exchange for anything.

Sometimes, I’m selfish. I know I shouldn’t be, but I cannot help it. I KNOW Obi-Wan is a Jedi, and I know it is his duty to serve the Council and fight the war just as it is my duty to represent my people in the Senate. I would never ask him to give that life up. But we are in a unique situation, he and I. He has an attachment, and for better or worse, that is not usually permitted. The only reason the Council has given its blessing is because of Obi-Wan’s exemplary service record, and because – for some mysterious reason – Master Yoda seems to approve of our relationship. What it means is that Obi-Wan and I are being constantly pulled between our professional lives and our personal lives. It is a stress that neither of us need, but nor would either of us choose to give it up.

We went through so much to establish it in the first place.

I’ve had such a wonderful time these past few days. Knowing that my parents have now given their blessing for Obi-Wan and I to be together means more than I can explain in words. The family unit is just too important to Nubians; we are raised from the cradle to appreciate and honour it above all other pursuits, even public service. As I once told Obi-Wan, I can no more deny that those beliefs are a part of my life than he could deny his Jedi upbringing. I realize now that keeping the secret of us from my parents was causing me a tremendous amount of stress all on its own. With that weight off my chest, I was able to be more relaxed on this holiday than I could ever remember being.

Somehow we were able to leave each other this morning. Somehow he let go of me, and we kissed one final time, and I ran to the window to watch him go. It took a few moments for him to appear below, and when he did, I watched him stop, turn and look up. He saw me, and wordlessly he raised his hand to his lips, as though my fingers were there and he was about to kiss them.

Through my tears, I did the same.

We held that pose for a long time, each savouring the glance of the other, and then Paddy Accu called to him. Obi-Wan blew me a kiss, then turned and climbed into the boat. I watched until the boat was a dot, then a speck.

Then gone.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

The Values of Friendship

Light.

Oh, goddesses, that light, it was blinding her —

“It is time to rise once more, Miss Padmé!” The strident voice of C-3PO rang through the room. “I am waking you one hour early as you had requested, so that you may attend this morning’s Loyalist Committee meeting. Would you like some tea?”

Padmé moaned and put her head under her pillow. Anakin, I’ll get you for this, she thought.

While it was true that she greatly appreciated the services of the protocol droid, and was thankful that Anakin had given Threepio to her for her twenty-seventh lifeday before he’d left for the Outer Rim Sieges, there were times when she would have liked to deactivate the talkative droid for awhile.

Either that or teach him the exact meaning of the phrase “Please, just five more minutes!”

“Miss Padmé, you must rise.” Threepio was standing at her bedside now. “Don’t you recall how important this meeting is to the future of the Republic? Senator Organa and Senator Mothma have been preparing for it for weeks!”

The future of the Republic has nothing on the future of my stomach, thought Padmé.

She swallowed hard against a powerful wave of nausea and squeezed her eyes shut. “Threepio —” she started.

Mistake. Bile crept immediately up to her throat and she had to fight hard to keep from vomiting right there. What in the galaxy was wrong? She couldn’t count how many times in the past three months since Obi-Wan and Anakin’s departure that she had awakened feeling like this. And yet whenever she had taken her temperature or examined herself with a rudimentary medical scanner, everything was normal.

Nausea attacked once more and Padmé sat up quickly lest she should have to make a dash for the refresher.

“Excellent!” Threepio exclaimed, obviously sensing nothing amiss. “I have laid out the garments you specified and am about to begin making the morning meal. Would you like eggs, toast, shuura fruit …?”

The mention of food proved to be too much for her sensitive stomach. “Wait!” Padmé exclaimed, hurrying from the bed to the nearby fresher with one hand over her mouth. She made it to the toilet without a second to spare and bent over, unwillingly surrendering the previous evening’s meal.

C-3PO tottered into the room after her. “Oh, my,” he said. “You appear rather ill once again! Will you permit me to fetch a med droid now?”

Padmé collapsed next to the toilet, hugging the bowl and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “No … Threepio, it’s … it’s all right,” she managed. “Just the water. The usual … water.”

“Of course, m’lady,” Threepio said, nodding and trotting out of the fresher.

They had a well-established routine now on mornings when Padmé woke up feeling sick. If she was simply nauseous, she could usually function, though at a reduced capacity. She would refuse breakfast and proceed directly to the Senate, where all but the most important meetings would be canceled in advance by the protocol droid with appropriate regrets sent. She felt badly sometimes for canceling so many meetings, but they were inevitably made up later and no one had ever probed further into precisely why she had been unable to fulfill obligations. Some considerate Senators, Mon Mothma in particular, were even accustomed to this and had specified to their aides that they should only schedule meetings with Senator Amidala in the afternoon hours.

Then there were other days, such as this one. Days where Padmé vomited from the moment she woke to the moment she closed her eyes at night, and had to stay close to a refresher at all times. Days when she often remained at her apartment and worked from there, taking breaks as required.

And yet the bizarre illness occurred infrequently enough that Padmé could dismiss it as a simple infection. She was much more tired than usual, as well, but decided she owed that to her increased workload in the Senate. She had become aware of perhaps the strangest symptom of all when her bras and corsets would no longer fit. An embarrassed Padmé had needed to borrow undergarments from Eirtaé so she could dress for an important meeting with the Chancellor. Later that afternoon she’d asked Motée, another of her handmaidens, to take her new measurements and order larger sizes.

Still, all of those changes could be explained away, some more easily than others, and explain away was precisely what Padmé did. Though Threepio hinted constantly whenever he saw her becoming ill that the services of a medical droid should be sought, she always found a reason to put it off. She was too busy, she couldn’t afford to miss any more time in the Senate than she had already, the illness didn’t seem all that serious anyway. And a darker thought occasionally crept into her mind when her mental shields were vulnerable: what if a med droid should discover that in fact there wasn’t anything wrong — that the symptoms would vanish completely … in nine months?

Padmé hadn’t lied to Obi-Wan when she had told him she wanted another child, but nor had she lied about now not being the appropriate time.

Presently C-3PO padded back into the refresher holding a glass of fresh water with ice cubes clinking inside. Padmé accepted it gratefully and took a cautious sip. Satisfied that the water would not immediately make its way back up, she took another.

“Miss Padmé, I really must insist on the necessity of a medical droid,” Threepio said. “You seem to be malfunctioning ever more egregiously of late. Suppose you are seriously ill?”

Padmé sighed heavily and immediately regretted it as the nausea reasserted itself. “Threepio, how many times are we going to have this discussion?”

“As many times as we need to until you take my advice,” was Threepio’s most irritating answer. “Master Anakin would want you to, I’m sure.”

True. Padmé was almost certain that her friend would take the droid’s side. So, too, would Obi-Wan, most likely.

She felt a pang of longing at the thought of him, as she so often did lately. She could almost picture him standing there — no, crouching next to her and holding her hair away from her face, the way he had done during the miscarried pregnancy — and giving her precisely the sort of advice he would have ignored were he on the receiving end.

Oh, Obi-Wan, Padmé thought ruefully. We are so much alike, you and I.

Somehow buoyed by that thought process, she turned back to the waiting droid. “All right, Threepio,” Padmé said. “Contact a medical droid if you wish, but specify that it is to come here. Under no circumstances will I go to the Medcenter; it would arouse too much suspicion. Specify as well that confidentiality is of the utmost importance. No one can learn of where the droid is going, nor whom it examined, nor what may or may not be wrong with that patient. Understood?”

The strict measures were necessary, in the unlikely event that the mysterious illness turned out not to be a virus. In the unlikely event that Obi-Wan’s wish to be a father was granted sooner rather than later.

“Yes, of course, Mistress Padmé,” tittered Threepio. “I am so glad you’ve finally given your consent. I’m sure you’ll feel much better after you are seen by a skilled professional.”

Had another bout of nausea not overcome her at that moment, Padmé might have found irony in that statement. More and more, her feelings were telling her that the bizarre ailment would probably not be fixed by a med droid.

She leaned over the toilet and threw up again as her protocol droid hurried from the room.

***

Three hours later, Padmé was sitting uneasily on her landing pad’s couch, across from the most expert medical droid C-3PO could find on such short notice. She had already been through a battery of uncomfortable tests, and she was feeling nauseous again.

The droid fixed her with an imperious stare. “The results of the physical examination will finish computing in just a few moments,” it said. “In the meantime, I must ask you some personal questions. Please be honest; it is essential to the diagnosis.”

Padmé swallowed hard. “Understood. These results and my answers will be kept absolutely confidential, is that clear?”

“Of course, Senator. I am programmed to automatically self-destruct if anyone attempts to remove information from me by force. I will also self-destruct if that programming is tampered with in any way.”

“Good.” She gripped the arm of the chair.

The droid pulled out a datapad. “Can you remember the precise date of your last menstrual period?”

“Well …” Padmé paused, thinking. Certainly it had been before Obi-Wan and Anakin left for the Outer Rim. “At least three or four months ago,” she told the droid. “To tell the truth, I hadn’t noticed its absence until you brought that up. And even if I had, I would likely have assumed stress was the cause. It’s happened before.”

“Indeed.” The droid made a notation on the pad. “Did you engage in sexual relations at any point during that three to fourth month time period?”

She lowered her eyes. “Yes. Twice. Three months ago my — partner and I took a vacation together. We made love many times during that trip.”

The droid did not speak, typing something else into the pad. “Have you been pregnant before?”

“Once,” Padmé said. She bit her lip and continued, “The, ah — the pregnancy ended in miscarriage when I was nearly three months along.”

“Would you say that the symptoms you are currently experiencing mirror those experienced during that pregnancy?”

“Well … yes, I suppose. I’ve had many of the same symptoms, come to think of it. But they seem — worse. More pronounced.” Padmé lifted her gaze to the droid. “Do you think I might be pregnant?”

“It is a distinct possibility,” the med droid replied. “But only the final results of the tests I performed can say for certain.”

An indicator beeped, and the droid pulled out another datapad. Padmé waited, listening to servomotors and mechanical systems buzzing and whirring. She found herself wishing that she had allowed one of her handmaidens to be present. If Dormé had still been working for her, the question would not even have needed to be considered, since the two were almost as close as sisters. But Dormé had left for Naboo a few months after the miscarriage, when she discovered her own pregnancy. She still corresponded with Padmé on occasion, and the latter kept several holoimages of Dormé’s beautiful baby girl, Aisha-Ru, on her desk.

Mon Mothma, thought Padmé suddenly, and then had to put that idea quickly aside as the med droid addressed her.

“Test results have confirmed that you are nearly four months pregnant,” it said. “Not only that, the readings are consistent with a twin pregnancy.”

“Excuse me?” Padmé stammered. “You — you can’t be serious! Twins?”

“Humour and half-truths are not a part of my programming,” said the droid huffily. It whirred over to her, gesticulating with a datapad. “This is an image taken of your uterus approximately one half hour previous. You can clearly see that there is a dot here, representing one child, and a similar dot over to that side, representing another. According to my extensive medical database, that is indicative of a twin pregnancy in humans.”

Padmé wasn’t sure about being able to “clearly see” — the image she was being shown bore a closer resemblance to a gundark staring out of a muddy lake — but she could accept that the droid was not programmed to lie.

“My apologies,” she said hastily. “I just — I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Of course,” the droid replied. “The human emotion of shock is perfectly normal in such a situation.”

She took the datapad from the droid and examined it closely. Could this be true? Could these two tiny beings really exist inside of her? Her eyes sprang back to the image as one of the dots moved, whipping out a tiny arm. Seconds later, the other did the same.

“The wonders of modern holoimaging,” said the droid, who was watching over her shoulder. “Is it not spectacular?”

Padmé’s eyes were wet with tears. “Yes,” she whispered, reaching out a hand to caress the screen softly. “Yes, it truly is.”

She wasn’t referring to the technology.

***

PERSONAL RECORD: OBI-WAN KENOBI  
Something changed this morning, in the Force.

I can’t precisely pinpoint its source; I know only that it occurred. And the additional fact that it may have something to do with Padmé. I wish I could get back to her — I’m feeling the effects of having been separated from her for four months, and I’m sure she is as well — but it’s simply impossible at the moment. Anakin and I are headed for Escarte to question one of the beings who constructed Nute Gunray’s mechno-chair. I cannot give many details here, lest this be found somehow, but suffice it to say that if we can get what we need on Escarte, we will be a lot closer to winning this war.

I think Anakin is becoming suspicious of my intentions towards Padmé. He hasn’t said anything directly to me, but I will sometimes catch him looking at me in a manner that seems almost to signify … jealousy. I don’t want to believe it, I want to think he’s a Jedi and therefore above jealousy, but evidence appears to suggest otherwise. I know he knows about the miscarriage, and I also know we’re going to have to talk about that, but I’m having a great deal of difficulty figuring out how to broach the subject. So for the time being, I’ve left it alone.

I suppose I should mention as well that I have come to a fairly important decision, a decision that will have a great impact upon my life. Again, I wish not to reveal many details about it, but it has to do with Padmé. I began to contemplate it the morning I left her on Naboo, and the strange feelings in the Force when I awoke today finally prodded me to come to a conclusion. It is perhaps for this reason most of all that I hope to be reunited with her soon, though not, of course, if dereliction of my duty is a consequence. But it is as I had expected: since our previous mission was accomplished, they have reassigned us to the Outer Rim sieges, with not even a break in between to return to Coruscant.

I shall simply need to be patient, and thankfully, patience is not a skill with which I tend to have difficulty.

“The Force was different this morning,” announced Anakin.

It came suddenly, almost as though he was continuing a conversation begun previously, but the declaration was not unexpected to Obi-Wan.

“Yes,” he agreed, “it was.”

“Master …” Anakin fidgeted with the environmental controls, setting and resetting the temperature in the craft’s sleeping quarters. “I thought, too … that it might have something to do with Padmé.”

He drew back, perhaps expecting to be chastised for the remark, but Obi-Wan merely nodded. “Indeed.”

“When do you think we’ll be sent back to Coruscant?” Anakin wondered aloud.

“I’m not sure, to be perfectly honest. It depends on how long the sieges continue.” Obi-Wan stared vacantly at his datapad, drawing up courage for what he wanted to say next. “Anakin, I — I’m beginning to realize that we are long overdue to talk about several things. Things involving our relationship, and the Code, and … and Padmé.”

Suddenly Anakin was paying rapt attention. “Padmé? What about her?”

“Well, as I’m sure you are aware, a few months after the start of the Clone Wars she had a miscarriage,” Obi-Wan began. “It was hushed up in the press, partially to protect her privacy during that delicate time, but also to protect the privacy and career of the father.” He sighed and took a deep breath; talking about the loss of the baby was still painful. “The father … was myself.”

Anakin put on a credible imitation of surprise. “What?”

“It’s all right, Anakin, I know that you know. Padmé told me that she had confided in you.”

“Oh. Okay.” The young Jedi relaxed.

“I would imagine you have more than a few questions,” prompted Obi-Wan.

“Well — uh — yeah,” Anakin said, looking sheepish. “Are you still … you know … together? Like that?” A hot blush was rising to his cheeks.

Obi-Wan felt himself reddening too, but he had promised himself that he would tell Anakin the truth. “Yes. We are.”

This time Anakin was genuinely shocked. “You — what?” he blurted. “But the Code —”

“Masters Yoda and Windu are aware of our relationship,” Obi-Wan said. “They have given their blessing for various reasons, primary among them my exemplary service record and my dedication to all other aspects of the Code.”

Again, jealousy seemed to flicker in Anakin’s eyes, and he stiffened slightly. But the moment passed, and his voice was calm — warm, even — as he said, “She loves you very much, you know. She told me so on Naboo.”

“Yes, I know,” Obi-Wan said, a warm smile forming on his face as he thought of Padmé. “She loves you too, Anakin. She speaks of you often when we’re together. I think she believes — and perhaps not without cause — that I have followed the rule of non-attachment too strictly with you. That I have not given us the chance to develop a relationship similar to the kind I had with Qui-Gon, for instance.”

Again the Knight looked surprised, but not displeased. “There is no one I’d rather have for my Master,” he said vehemently. “Without you, I wouldn’t be half the Jedi I am today. Or half the man.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s impossible to deny that we’ve had our differences. Primarily, in my opinion, regarding Padmé. It can’t be easy for you, Anakin, to know that she loves me and to see that our relationship has been all but sanctioned by the Council. I know the affection you feel for her.”

Anakin blushed. “I’ve tried to suppress those feelings,” he said. “The Code taught me that attachment to another isn’t allowed.”

“Yes, but your situation is different from that of most in the Order,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “You have the experience of having been raised in a family setting, with a mother who loved and nurtured you. In some senses it’s almost impossible to rid you of the attachment instinct, and what’s more, it would be unfair to try.” He sighed. “And I hope … I hope one day you will forgive me for not recognizing that.”

“Master, you’re acting like you haven’t ever taught me anything, or done me any good,” Anakin said. “And — well, that’s not true. I wasn’t lying when I said that one time that you’re the closest thing I have to a father.” He paused. “But, well, how come we’re having this discussion now? What made you decide to talk about all this stuff all of a sudden? Forgive me but … I’ve never known you to do that before. Master,” he added hastily.

Obi-Wan ran a hand tiredly over his face. “I just think certain things should not go unsaid. I’ve been pondering most of what I just said for quite some time now. As well … being in love with another changes you. There’s no way it can’t.”

“I know,” Anakin said quietly.

They sat in silence for several more moments, each alone with their thoughts. Each connected to the other in a way he hadn’t been before.

“Why don’t we start over,” Obi-Wan said finally. “Let us not distance ourselves so much from one another. When one of us has a problem, we ought to discuss it instead of attempting to cover it up.”

“Right.” Anakin nodded. “And … Obi-Wan?” His tone was hesitant as he tried the name out. “I — Padmé’s just a friend to me now. Really.”

“I know. And she needs you, just as much as you need her.”

***

Padmé snapped her datapad shut and stuffed it in a nearby briefcase. “Come,” she said disgustedly to her handmaidens, Jar Jar and Captain Typho. “I’ve heard enough of this charade.”

“Agreed.” Motée rolled her eyes and began to gather her employer’s things together. They left the Senate pod a short time later, Jar Jar walking in front, Padmé’s handmaidens bunched around her and Captain Typho bringing up the rear.

In some ways she resented the new security measure, as it only served to infringe further on her personal freedoms, but a small part of her was glad of it. She had other lives to think about now besides her own, lives that depended upon her survival.

Now nearly six months into her pregnancy, Padmé needed to take many measures to conceal it. It was neither simple nor comfortable to disguise an abdomen swelling with twin babies, but she told herself firmly that it was absolutely necessary whenever the physical symptoms threatened to overwhelm her. The thick dresses, heavy cloaks and bulky undergarments made her hot and only added extra weight to her frame, so that often she felt as though she was walking through mud.

All of those annoyances had disappeared in an instant last night, however. She’d been lying in bed reading Palpatine’s latest State of the Republic address, when a sudden fluttering sensation nearly made her jump through the ceiling. Her first thought was that an insect had somehow bypassed the building’s air filtration devices and landed on her. Then she remembered that there were no naturally-occurring insects on Coruscant.

As Padmé sat there attempting to puzzle the matter out, it happened again. This time it was much more distinct. And in a flash of understanding, she knew.

The twins! They must be moving for the very first time!

She felt like a fool for not realizing it immediately, but next second that emotion had been replaced by an incredible sense of wonderment … and the ever-present longing for Obi-Wan, as strong as it had been since she first found out she was pregnant. He should be here, Padmé thought wistfully, wrapping a comforting hand around her belly. These are his children, just as much as they are mine. And he wants this so desperately. We both do.

In a perfect galaxy, she knew, he would have been. In a perfect galaxy they would be living together on Naboo, openly married, perhaps with a child already. In a perfect galaxy Obi-Wan would not have had to go away for months at a time to fight a long, bitter war.

In a perfect galaxy he would have been there to feel his children move inside his partner for the first time.

“M’lady?”

Motée’s voice snapped Padmé back to the present. Without her even realizing it they had parted from Jar Jar and were now standing outside her Senate office. “Sorry, Motée,” she sighed. “I have too much on my mind. What were you saying?”

“Understandable, of course,” Motée smiled. “I was asking if you would like to remain here for the afternoon, or if you wish to return to your apartment.”

“Home, I think,” Padmé said, reaching around to massage her aching back. “There are no crucial meetings or sessions scheduled this afternoon. Please comm Senator Mothma and tell her that I will see her in my apartment at 500 Republica.”

“I’ll take care of that, m’lady,” said Eirtaé. “The most important thing for you at the moment is to rest.”

Padmé nodded her thanks and the group split once more, leaving Eirtaé and Ellé in the Senate office and Typho and Motée to guide her home. It wasn’t the first time during her pregnancy that Padmé had returned to her apartment early, and so her staff was well-practiced at the procedures involved.

She settled into the speeder as Typho keyed in the autopilot and leaned her head back against the seat cushion. The stress of the morning had taken its toll, with Palpatine in the Senate presenting even more reasons why the Constitution should be further subverted, and all of his political allies speaking up in support. It was not difficult for Constitutional loyalists like Padmé, Bail and Mon Mothma to see that the Chancellor now had three-quarters of the Senate doing precisely what he wanted. And most of what Palpatine wanted was in direct opposition to the principles of democracy.

He can try to hide behind the pretext of the Clone Wars for some issues, but not these, Padmé thought. Then again, why does he even need to hide? Most of the Senate follows him blindly regardless. And those who don’t have little opportunity to voice their dissension.

No wonder she was so exhausted these days.

Worst of all, perhaps, was her constant fear for Obi-Wan’s life while he was away at war, and the knowledge that he couldn’t be there at the end of the day to relieve her stress. Difficult, too, was the never-ending worry for the babies. Although Padmé had passed the traditional time when miscarriages were most common, nervousness still gnawed uncomfortably at her and kept her up at night. What if she were to lose the twins? The medical droid she saw every two months had pronounced her in perfect health, but the worries would not go away. She didn’t think she could bear another loss like that, especially not without Obi-Wan’s support. He had been invaluable to her when her previous pregnancy ended, and she to him. But now, he was somewhere on the other side of the galaxy, and she … she was on Coruscant with her worries, and her fears, and the unspoken question of whether and when she would see him again.

Involuntarily Padmé felt her eyes filling with tears, but she swallowed them down as quickly as they had come. She couldn’t give into that fear; there was already enough stress in her life. Obi-Wan’s voice in her head, as clear as if he had spoken the words while sitting next to her in the speeder, was saying, “Remember, Padmé, until the possible becomes actual, it is only a distraction.”

“Yes, darling,” Padmé whispered so that no one but herself and the Force could hear. “I know.”

***

After lunch and a long nap, she felt a little more human. Padmé dressed again in a soft sundress, relieved that her current meeting did not require the pregnancy to be hidden. There had been many times since her abdomen had begun to round that she wanted to show it off to someone. After all, on Naboo, women wore their pregnancies like badges of honour, very tangible signs that they were contributing to planetary tradition. Padmé wished with all her heart that she could do the same.

Later, she told herself. When Obi-Wan comes home.

The door chimed, and Padmé hastened to answer it. Mon had indeed gotten the message, and was standing there with her five-year-old daughter Lily in her arms.

“Sorry about the little one,” Mon said apologetically, stepping inside. “There was supposedly a ‘credible security threat’ at the educational facility where I leave her for the day, so the teachers commed all the parents and asked them to get their kids.”

“I helped Mom at work!” announced Lily, grinning.

“That’s wonderful, dear,” Padmé smiled back. “Listen, I bet C-3PO would like your help dusting my statues. You remember Threepio, right?”

“Yup!” Lily squirmed in her mother’s arms and Mon set her on the floor. “He’s your procul droid!”

Both women laughed. “Right,” Padmé said. She walked over to the balcony and peeked out at the golden droid, who was currently dusting the railing. “Threepio, would you mind entertaining Lily for a bit? Don’t worry if you don’t get any more dusting done, it can be left until later.”

“Of course, Miss Padmé,” Threepio agreed amiably. “I know of some programming on the HoloNet which I’m sure she will find most illuminating.”

Privately, Padmé thought Lily would rather “help” Threepio dust than watch his idea of illuminating programming, but she didn’t say so out loud. Instead she merely smiled and replied, “That’s great. Just keep her out of trouble, we shouldn’t be long.”

The droid took Lily by the hand and had just about rounded the corner into the bedroom when the girl turned and looked quizzically at Padmé. “Mrs. Senator,” she began, “is there a baby in your tummy?”

Padmé regarded her very seriously for a moment, then said, “No, this is what happens if you don’t eat your green food rations.”

Lily looked startled. “Oh,” she said. Then she followed the fussing protocol droid out of the room. “C’mon, Threepio, let’s go dust! And … do you have any green food rations?”

The bedroom door clicked shut, and Padmé and Mon arranged themselves on the couch.

“I do apologize,” Mon sighed, shaking her head. “She’s getting to the stage where she asks quite personal questions. Not all people are as … tolerant as you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it. My nieces do the exact same thing.” Padmé laughed. “I’ve probably traumatized her for life with the green food rations comment.”

Mon shrugged. “Every little bit helps so far as I’m concerned. She may not be picky about the questions she asks, but food — well, food is another matter entirely.”

“Lily’s very perceptive, though,” Padmé said quietly. “The fact is … she was right. I’m pregnant. About six months as of next week.”

“Oh, goodness, congratulations!” Mon exclaimed.

“Thank you. And — it’s twins, too.”

“Twins! My, you’ll really have your hands full there.” Mon paused. “Erm — will you have some help? I hope you don’t mind my asking, but … has the father consented to be involved?”

“Well, the truth is … he doesn’t know yet,” Padmé admitted. “But only because he’s a Jedi, and he’s been away fighting on the Outer Rim. He and I were in a relationship for about two years before this happened. The Jedi Council knows about our relationship, and they’ve given their consent.”

“No need to tell me who he is,” said Mon quickly. “The less I know, the better.”

Padmé nodded vehemently. “I absolutely agree. Very few people know I’m even pregnant, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Of course. You know, to think of it now, I suspected something like this was going on,” Mon replied thoughtfully. “Two months ago when you were canceling all of those meetings, it was always in the morning. I remembered the same thing happening with me when I was expecting Lily. So I told my assistants that if the need to meet with you arose, they should schedule it for the afternoon only.”

“I was glad of that,” Padmé said, smiling gratefully. “And I meant to comm you earlier and ask if we could talk like this, but it didn’t really become vitally necessary until a few days ago. I felt the babies move for the first time, and … I don’t know. Suddenly I was so lonely, I just needed to talk to someone. Someone who had gone through this before.”

Mon clasped her hand and squeezed lightly. “Oh, Padmé, I know. I know how hard this must be for you. The nights alone, wondering if you’ll ever see him again … wondering how he’ll react … wishing you didn’t have to conceal a miracle … I know.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Mon, but you had it worse,” Padmé pointed out. “Lily’s father didn’t want anything to do with you.”

“Indeed, he didn’t,” Mon sighed. “I sometimes wonder if it didn’t have something to do with my having been appointed Senator for Chandrila. Christos was as young as myself, but he was no fool. He knew the scandal that would erupt.”

Both were silent for several moments. A baby stirred, and Padmé unconsciously put her hand over her belly.

“Do you ever miss him?” she asked presently. “Do you ever wonder where he is, or what he’s doing? Are you ever so lonely without him that you can’t stand it?”

“I can’t pretend there haven’t been days, but in all honesty I do think I’m loads better off without him,” Mon admitted. “I should have seen the signals a parsec off. His lack of commitment to me, some of the comments he made … I won’t burden you with the details, but he was not the sort of person I’d like hanging around Lily at the moment. She’s just fine with me, we’ve worked things out.”

Padmé attempted a smile. “Maybe it’s good that he didn’t stay, then. But with my partner … it’s so different. I suppose I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this, but he wants to be a father. I think that’s part of the reason why I’m so lonely. I want him to be here, to catch all these little moments with the babies and me that should be his, and his alone.”

“I thought the Jedi were supposed to forswear all attachment,” said Mon. “Not have families, not have serious relationships. Or even want to.”

“They are,” Padmé replied. “As I said, it’s different with him. The Council has given him permission because of his service record and adherence to the Code. He was even put on the Council a few months ago.” She blushed, suddenly aware that she might have revealed a bit too much. “He’s the consummate Jedi, except for this one little thing. We both tried to suppress it for so many years, but it didn’t work. Even he admits it.”

“It sounds as though he loves you very much, to risk giving up his life as a Jedi for you.”

“He does. I know it.”

Mon considered for several moments, evidently thinking hard. “Well … short of magically pulling your partner out from under my cloak, there is probably nothing I can say or do that will adequately comfort you. To be pregnant is naturally a very lonely matter at times, and to be so without a partner to help you is even more isolating. That’s why you mustn’t be too hard on yourself. Cancel a meeting now and then; come home early once or twice. There are many believable excuses that can be made and no one will think any less of you for using them. Try and take a long relaxing bath at least once every two days. Don’t stay up too late working and make sure your home is stocked with healthy foods.” She chuckled. “So help me, I’m probably starting to sound like your mother.”

Padmé laughed. “Maybe just a little,” she conceded.

“Most importantly, don’t be afraid to rely on your friends,” Mon said softly. “Comm me at any time, day or night. Don’t be shy. I’m sure Bail wouldn’t mind the occasional chat, either. I hear he and Breha are trying to conceive again.”

“He told me that the other day, yes,” Padmé said. “I can’t imagine … two miscarriages and a stillbirth.” What she didn’t say was, One miscarriage is difficult enough. I don’t know how they’ve coped with three such losses.

“Indeed,” Mon murmured. “We can only hope that this time they’ll be successful.”

An ache shot through Padmé’s back, and she stood and stretched, peering out the window. “I shouldn’t have kept you here so long. I know it’s getting late and you’ll probably want to have Lily home before it gets completely dark.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Mon said firmly. “Don’t blame yourself for wanting to talk. That’s never wrong. I could even stay and have dinner if you like, we’ve got no plans for this evening.”

“Oh, Mon, no, you don’t have to do that.” Padmé put a hand to the small of her back, massaging in light concentric circles. “You’ve been good enough to me already today. I can’t even express how much I appreciate it.”

She was gazing out the window as she spoke, looking at the sky. Wondering if, wherever he was, Obi-Wan might be seeing those same stars.

“It’s all right, it would be my pleasure.” Mon’s voice drew her back to the present. “For goodness sake, I’ll even cook. What have you got in your cooling unit?”

Mon was on her feet as well, ready to head into the kitchen.

“The handmaidens will do that —” Padmé began, but Mon cut her off.

“Nonsense. Tell them they’ve got the night off. I’m in the mood to create something here.”

Padmé felt her eyes filling with tears as her friend crossed to where she was standing and gave her a hug.

“Don’t worry, Padmé,” Mon whispered. “I know this is difficult and you must be feeling so lonely at the moment, but we’ll get you through this. I promise.”

Padmé hugged her gratefully back, then turned her attention back to the window as Mon headed for the kitchen.

She put her hand over her abdomen and closed her eyes, wishing with all her heart that she could communicate with Obi-Wan through the Force. She simply didn’t know the proper way to send a mental message, though. But Padmé decided on the next best thing.

Focusing her attention on the farthest star, Padmé thought: We’re okay, darling. I didn’t think we were going to be, but we are.

Rest well, my love. We’ll see you soon. All three of us.

***

Rest well, my love … we’ll see you soon … all three of us …

The last vestiges of Obi-Wan’s dream faded as someone began shaking his shoulder.

“Mrmphhh,” he muttered into his pillow. “Lemme sleep.”

He had been dreaming about Padmé, and it was such a good dream!

“Master! Master, wake up!” Anakin’s voice was urgent.

Obi-Wan cracked open an eyelid. “Anakin, what is it? Don’t tell me you’ve had another vision.”

“It’s not that.” Anakin was standing over Obi-Wan in their small tent, biting his lip. “It’s Artoo. He’s picked up a transmission from Coruscant.”

“Coruscant?” Suddenly Obi-Wan was wide awake. For some reason they hadn’t yet been able to discern, there had been no communications from the galaxy’s capital for the last five hours. Obi-Wan had instructed Anakin and Clone Commander Cody to inform him immediately if any transmissions were received before settling down to take a short nap.

He followed Anakin to where R2-D2 was hooked into the communications console, beeping and whirring. At the sight of the Jedi, the droid beeped and whistled excitedly.

“You got something, Artoo?” Anakin asked. Another series of frantic beeps and whistles. “Okay, full playback.”

A moment later the tight, frightened voice of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine issued from the starfighter’s speakers. “Anakin, if you are receiving this message, I am in urgent need of your assistance …”

Before either man could even react to that extraordinary pronouncement, Cody hurried up to them clutching a flimsiplast printout.

“Sirs!” he blurted. “I’ve just learned that the Separatists have attacked Coruscant. New orders are for all available fighters to return immediately to aid in the defense of the capital.”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. Coruscant under attack … Padmé …

Anakin had already acted, whipping a comlink from his pocket and tuning it to their unit’s frequency. “Crew chief! Refuel and rearm all starfighters at once!”

Obi-Wan scrambled into his starfighter and began to run pre-flight checks. All around him, the camp was bustling and busy with clones and droids racing to carry out Anakin’s orders.

All the Jedi Master could think was: Home.

I’m going home. To Padmé.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Lightning War

It had been thirteen years since Padmé Amidala last saw war.

Then, she had been fourteen. Then, she had been young — too young — and naïve, by her own later admission. Then, she had firmly believed that all political problems could be solved through negotiation, and that averting violence was a simple matter of convincing your opponent to see your side of the issue. Then, she had not known that the scorned, the weak and the disenfranchised had many weapons to wield if negotiation failed. Terrorism. Subversion. Blockades. And, if those methods had been unsuccessful, outright war was never prohibited to those blinded by a cause.

Padmé had not known any of this when she stood at the tall window of her palace in Theed. Although she had been fascinated by public service for over half her life, she was just beginning to grasp the subtleties of politics. These subtleties, by and large, could only be learned through direct leadership.

Presently, Padmé considered herself wiser. Better at playing “the game,” as she and Mon called the political system. It was because of her firmly-held beliefs, developed during the rest of her tenure as Queen and in her new position as Senator, that she was able to stand against the creation of the Grand Army of the Republic. And when that army became fact, those same beliefs helped her in her continued arguments against war. Against the bitter conflict that was rending the galaxy in two.

Now, that conflict had come to Coruscant.

Again Padmé stood at a window, this time the window of her office in the Senate Office building, and watched disbelievingly as low-hanging contrails marked the beginnings of a huge space battle. Like many others with whom she spoke early that morning, Padmé expressed the fervent hope that this latest battle would not touch the planet itself. But now, there were warnings. Now, there were rumours. Padmé sent C-3PO to find out what was going on.

“Miss Padmé!” the droid exclaimed when he tottered back into the room around midmorning. “I have heard the most awful news! The Separatist Army is invading Coruscant, and the building is to be evacuated. Everyone must proceed to the shelters below!”

Padmé looked up from her datapad, alarmed. “From whom did you hear this, Threepio?”

(Idle gossip did have a tendency to take on a menacing turn these days, after all.)

“The Speaker of the Senate, Mas Amedda,” Threepio promptly replied. “He said that an announcement will be made over the building’s private HoloNet address system in approximately —”

“Attention all building personnel,” a deep voice suddenly boomed. “The planetary defense system has been compromised. All beings are required to proceed immediately to the underground shelters. Clone soldiers will be posted to the hallways to direct you. This is not a drill. I repeat: attention all building personnel …”

“There it is,” Padmé murmured, almost to herself. She snapped her datapad closed and gathered it and a few others, security-locking them in her desk. “Come on, Threepio. We’d better go.”

“But Captain Typho, m’lady! Motée and Ellé! If they find out we’ve left the office without waiting for their return, they’ll —”

“Say it was the right thing to do,” Padmé interrupted briskly. “If the building is being evacuated, it’s for a good reason. Officials wouldn’t order an evacuation unless they knew of a credible threat. And besides …” She put a hand on her belly, as much to comfort herself as the babies restless within. “I have others’ safety to think about now besides my own.”

As if to punctuate her point, the building was suddenly rocked by a nearby explosion.

“Oh, my!” exclaimed Threepio. “Perhaps you’re right. That was entirely too close for my threat sensors’ comfort!”

Padmé was already moving toward the door. “Hurry, Threepio, unless you want the Senate to be your final resting place.”

The golden droid hastened to join her. “I assure you, Mistress, I’m moving as quickly as my limbs permit. Oh, curse my metal body! I’ll become entombed here!”

Pulling open the door, the two were met by a hallway clogged with beings of all sizes and descriptions. Senators, their aides, security details, messengers, clones — all were moving about in a state of advanced alarm. No one seemed quite sure where to go, despite the guiding hands of the troopers. Feeling even more helpless than ever, Padmé gathered her strength and plunged into the fray.

The Confederacy could not have chosen a more strategically sound — for them, at any rate — time to attack. Palpatine’s latest State of the Republic address had been given only two days previously, meaning that most delegates were still on-planet discussing its ramifications and partaking in the many parties that naturally followed on from such events. Even a small incursion by the Separatists into the Galactic Core would no doubt put the frighteners on those Senators who were in favour of additional constitutional reforms. And really, they would have an air-tight case. All they need do was point to the latest invasion as proof that not enough security existed.

Which was precisely Palpatine’s point in his latest speech, Padmé thought. Honestly, if I didn’t know better I’d almost say he planned this himself.

Of course the very notion was ridiculous, but she couldn’t help considering it all the same.

She passed a Sullustan and a Gotal noisily discussing the topic that was on everyone’s minds that morning. “How could this happen?” the Sullustan demanded of the Gotal. “How?”

It wasn’t the first time Padmé had heard that question. Nor would it be the last.

She was concerned about Coruscant, certainly; worried of how the invasion would impact the Constitution. Nervous, of course, about getting to the shelters safely. But her primary fears, the fears that made her throat close and her heart pound and her hands shake, were not for the planet or for herself. They were for the two men she had thought of most often in the past five months. Obi-Wan and Anakin. Obi-Wan and Anakin, who might have been risking their lives at that moment, who had almost certainly been called back to Coruscant if the battle was as big as the rumours portrayed it to be. Obi-Wan, her gentle, loving partner. The father of her children. Where was he?

Padmé thought of him, let her heart drift to him, whispered in her mind though she doubted he could hear her.

Obi-Wan, I need you. Come back to me — quickly!

The crowd swelled, jostling her sideways and making a collision with a Gran delegate inevitable. Witheringly the Senator fixed his eyestalks on her. “And you originally opposed the Military Creation Act. What do you say now?”

Padmé sighed and moved hurriedly away. Really, there wasn’t anything she could say. Her opponents seemed to believe that being outspoken against the creation of an army and supporting the Constitution were mutually exclusive, but in reality nothing could have been further from the truth. She had made that point many times on the Senate floor, to little effect.

“Padmé!”

She turned to see Mon and Bail Organa hurrying through the crowd towards her. Two female Jedi, Shaak Ti and Stass Allie, accompanied them.

“Have you seen the Chancellor?” Bail panted once the little group had caught up.

“He’s probably in the holding office,” answered Padmé with a shake of her head.

Shaak Ti sighed in frustration. “We were just there. The office is empty. Even his guards are gone.”

“They must have escorted him to the shelters, then,” Padmé said.

Bail glanced past her. “Mas Amedda!” he exclaimed. “He’ll know where to find the Supreme Chancellor.”

The Chagrian could offer no new clues when called over, however. “The Supreme Chancellor had no meetings scheduled until early this afternoon. I assume he is in his residence.”

“Five Hundred Republica,” Shaak Ti muttered. “I was just there.”

“And the Chancellor wasn’t?” Amedda asked in sudden concern.

“I wasn’t looking for him then,” the Jedi explained. “Master Allie and I will check the Senate Office building and Republica. Where are you going?”

That question was aimed at Padmé, Mon and the others.

“Wherever we’re directed, I suppose,” Mon replied. “Do you know if the crèches are being secured?”

A faint smile creased Stass Allie’s face. “I would imagine so, yes. All of the care centres and educational facilities have been directed to evacuate as well. You may even be able to reunite with your daughter in one of the shelters. But the turbolifts are overwhelmed; it will be hours before the Senate is evacuated. My skimmer is at the plaza’s northwest landing platform. You can pilot that directly to the shelters.”

“But won’t you and Shaak Ti need it?” Padmé said.

“We’ll use the speeder bike I arrived on,” Shaak Ti answered.

“We appreciate the gesture, but isn’t the front plaza cordoned off?” Bail spoke up.

Allie took his arm. “We’ll escort you. Come.”

The Jedi were able to part the crowd easily, and before long the group had gained the doorways leading to the main plaza complex. They were about to push them open to exit when a clone commando moved to intercept them.

“You can’t exit this way,” said the commando to Bail.

“They’re with us,” Shaak Ti quickly replied.

Communicating with hand signals, the commando gestured to his comrades to let them leave. The group proceeded through the plaza, bypassing gunships, armoured personnel carriers, AT-TEs and a variety of other weaponry. The oval Flash skimmer sat near the end of the plaza next to Stass Allie’s speeder bike.

Padmé and Mon settled themselves into the back with Threepio while Bail took the pilot’s seat. “Good luck,” Stass Allie called, swinging one leg over her bike. Moments later they had separated, swinging outwards into the wide canyon created by Coruscant’s buildings.

Military and civilian traffic was thick as they flew toward the Senate Medcenter, but Bail’s piloting skill got them through the worst of it. “Well, this is an interesting adventure, isn’t it?” Mon said with a chuckle. “Just this morning Lily was asking me whether anything exciting was going to happen today. I could never have predicted this!”

Padmé was about to reply when suddenly two beams of scarlet light lanced past them from somewhere above the dome of the Senate.

“Vulture droids!” Bail exclaimed.

All levity forgotten, Padmé and Mon clung to each other as the skimmer swerved and dipped to avoid the blizzard of flak exploding around them. A half-dozen of the monstrous droid fighters were now rocketing about the canyon unleashing blaster bolts at everything that moved. And they weren’t just aiming at the Republic gunships and fighters, Padmé realized in horror. These vulture droids seemed to have been deliberately sent to pick off civilian targets. Her mouth dropped open; this was not something she had ever expected to witness on Coruscant.

Both friendly and unfriendly fire surrounded them, deadly lancets of light whizzing in every direction. Bail was doing everything he could to keep the skimmer out of their path, but so was every other civilian and military pilot, and crashes became close to inevitable. They were racing toward the nearest shelter entrance, they had almost gained it …

A bright flash of white light blinded everyone momentarily as the craft tipped, nearly spilling its passengers into midair. Padmé blinked frantically and whirled around to see that smoke was pouring out of the aft engine. Her stomach leapt into her throat as the skimmer immediately began to dive.

“Hold on tight!” Bail shouted.

“We’re doomed!” C-3PO exclaimed.

Mon clutched her tightly. Both women could see that Bail was aiming for a small landing platform abutting a pedestrian bridge, but their dive was becoming increasingly swift and uncontrollable. Padmé put a hand over her abdomen, swallowing against a sudden wave of nausea. She was spinning, spinning wildly …

Obi-Wan! her mind screamed. Obi-Wan!

***

“Padmé … Padmé!”

The wide-eyed, worried face of Mon Mothma swam slowly into view as Padmé’s eyes blinked open. She put a hand to her head, which was pounding fiercely.

“No sleeping on the job, Senator,” Mon smiled. She looked relieved. “We have to get you out of here.”

Padmé found her voice at last. “How long —”

“Just for a moment,” her friend reassured her. “I don’t think you struck your head. You were fine after the crash. Then you fainted. Can you move?”

Gulping in a breath of air, Padmé glanced around. She had fallen sideways in the back of the skimmer, her head resting on Mon’s arm. Although her entire body ached, all parts seemed to be in working order, and she slowly sat up. “I — I can barely hear you.”

Mon extended her hand under the pretense of helping Padmé up, then slid her other hand lower to check on the twins. “They’re all right,” she said, lowering her voice so that only the two of them could understand. “Here, now. You have to be careful. Quickly.”

Padmé got shakily to her feet and climbed from the skimmer with Mon’s assistance. Then the two women rushed to join Bail and C-3PO, who had taken shelter behind a large statue in the middle of the plaza.

“Master Allie doesn’t strike me as the type who would sue for damages,” Threepio was saying as they approached.

Peeking from behind the statue, Padmé could see that they had come down near the Embassy Mall, knocking out three news kiosks and a large holosign along the way. Somehow the skimmer had avoided hitting any pedestrians on its way down. Or perhaps, she realized with a chill, there hadn’t been any pedestrians left alive to hit. Nearby there was a civilian transporter overturned on its side; it had been shot to pieces. The bodies of several clone troopers were hanging out, and Padmé thought she saw more beings inside. The smell of smoke and charred flesh, and the screams of those on the bridge above, filled the air.

Once more she swallowed hard, turning from the nightmarish scene towards Bail Organa. Blood smeared his cheek. “You were hurt …”

“It’s nothing,” he assured her. “Just a scratch. We have more to worry about anyway.”

Padmé followed his gaze and saw quite clearly what the remaining pedestrians on the bridge were screaming about. Four vulture droids had spread out along one side of the bridge, opposite to where terrified beings were fleeing. From there, the mechanized weapons could easily pick off stragglers, filling their bodies with deadly streaks of red light.

They’re innocents, she thought, sickened. Innocent beings caught up in this political war. They don’t deserve to die. They’re just ordinary beings, out on an ordinary day …

Her throat closed again, but this time with grief. She longed to simply sit down in the middle of the plaza and cry, but as had happened so many times during the past three years, Padmé put her emotions on hold to be dealt with later.

“Xi Char monstrosities,” Mon muttered in disgust. “Palpatine will never live this down. Committing so many of our ships and troopers to the Outer Rim Sieges, as if this war he is so intent on winning could never come to Coruscant.”

Bail snorted. “Not only will he live it down, he’ll profit from it. The Senate will be blamed for voting to escalate the sieges, and while we’re mired in accusations and counteraccusations of accountability, Palpatine will quietly accrue more and more power. Without realizing it, the Separatists have played right into his hands by launching this attack.”

This was so close to Padmé’s earlier thoughts that she had to suppress a gasp. The very fact that others were analyzing the situation and coming to the same conclusions had to mean something. And yet she desperately did not want to think what.

“They’re all mad,” Bail sighed. “Dooku, Grievous, Gunray, Palpatine.”

Mon nodded her head in sad agreement. “The Jedi could have stopped this war. Now they’re Palpatine’s pawns.”

Padmé wanted to object, wanted to point out that the Jedi naturally abhorred the concept of war and had really been dragged into it against their will. That desire to counter with other viewpoints was born out of her need to defend Obi-Wan, because she knew how hard the war had been on him already. It had been written in every line of his face when they visited Naboo. She hadn’t realized until he pulled on his clothes that last morning how much it devastated him to go back. He wanted to stay with her, of course, but it was more than that. Obi-Wan was not meant to take life, whether sentient or otherwise. It was simply not in his character. And war by its very nature required that life be taken. Kill the enemy or be killed.

The moral dilemmas he must grapple with every day, she thought, and her heart ached to hold him.

“They’re coming.” Bail’s sharp voice interrupted her thoughts. “They’re coming back.”

Padmé looked across the plaza. The vulture droids, having run out of targets on the bridge itself, had positioned themselves directly perpendicular to it. This gave them a clear field to fire on craft approaching the mall and on any civilians unlucky enough to be caught in their sights. Several LAATs and gunships, manned by clone troopers, hovered opposite but held their fire for fear of striking civilian transports and killing yet more innocents.

“Perhaps if we throw ourselves on the mercy of the owners of the mall, they will raise the security gate,” C-3PO suggested.

“We have to keep those droids on the far side of the bridge so the gunships can take them out,” Bail told Padmé and Mon.

Mon nodded. “I see a way to try.”

Without a further word, the three hurried out from behind the statue and ran towards the overturned civilian transport. Padmé swallowed down a fresh wave of nausea at the new smells assaulting her and bent down with the others to search the craft for weapons.

“What could I have been thinking?” Threepio wailed. “It can never be the easy answer!”

Within moments they were back behind the statue, blasters appropriated from the clones clutched in their hands.

“Not much power left,” Mon said, checking one of them. “Yours?”

“Low on blaster gas,” Padmé replied.

Bail ejected the power pack from his. “Empty.”

Mon sighed. “We’ll just have to make do.”

She and Padmé crouched behind the statue’s pedestal and eyed the menacing droids. By then the mechanical creatures had reached the skyway and were firing randomly towards LAATs, gunships and screaming pedestrians. Many shots found their mark, but an equal number missed, adding pieces of buildings, statuary and parts of skimmers and speeders to the debris littering the plaza. The noise was incredible.

“As soon as we fire we’ve got to be prepared to move,” Mon whispered. She pointed across to a news kiosk that was still miraculously unscathed. “There’s our first cover.”

Padmé nodded and took careful aim at one of the vultures. Her first shots did little more than catch its attention, but she was soon able to pick out vital components and concentrate on those. Next to her, Mon did the same.

She felt a thrill of excitement as the closest droid actually retreated a few steps, but next second her stomach dropped to her knees as the vulture let loose a trio of deadly torpedoes.

“Go! GO!” Mon screamed.

Padmé was already in motion, streaking across the plaza toward the kiosk. She didn’t have time to look back and see if Mon and Bail were all right, or if Threepio was following them. She felt, rather than heard, the first rocket detonating as it made contact with the statue and the second turning what was left of Stass Allie’s skimmer into flaming wreckage. The third rocket arced in front of her and blew a smoking humanoid-sized hole into the Embassy Mall’s security gate. Pedestrians immediately scrambled for it, jostling to be the first ones to get through.

The vulture might have continued to fire but for the LAATs, which suddenly had a clear field to attack. Red pinpricks of light whizzed back and forth through the air, and simultaneous explosions sounded as two of the enemy droids were blasted to bits. Padmé and Mon laid down steady cover fire from behind the news kiosk, but the two remaining vultures were undeterred. Apparently recognizing that the LAATs would not fire if the pedestrian bridge was in the way, they had moved behind it to increase their odds of survival.

“And I thought the Senate was a battlefield!” Bail exclaimed.

They sprinted again, this time towards a pile of rubble, and took more shots from the new vantage point. A gunship passed, but was again reluctant to fire on the vulture droids from behind the pedestrian bridge.

“I’m out,” Mon sighed. She threw her rifle to the ground.

“Same,” Padmé said after checking the display screen on her weapon.

“How will I ever explain this to R2-D2?” Threepio moaned.

One final time the trio and the droid ran into the open plaza, this time hoping to gain the safety of the security grate. But suddenly the remaining vulture droid was directly in their path, raising its blasters, preparing to fire. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The droid could pick them off as it wished.

Padmé felt a hot surge of anger. She needed to continue living, needed to see Obi-Wan again and deliver his children and survive to see this horrible war to its conclusion. She couldn’t stand the thought of being gunned down in the middle of a crowded Coruscanti plaza, and it was only her self-restraint and exhaustion that prevented her from leaping on the droid and pulling out its power cables.

She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain of the bolts hitting to tear through her body.

It never came.

Padmé chanced a glance at the droid and saw it pause momentarily, perhaps in receipt of some remote communication, and then suddenly — amazingly — it folded its legs and flew away. The other droids, too, were retreating, even those being chased by two gunships.

Taking advantage of their sudden distraction, Padmé hurried for the gate and leaned heavily on the skyway railing once she was through. Gasping for breath, she looked down.

The two vulture droids had dropped into the canyon, to be joined by several others, and were racing after a mag-lev train in the distance.

“Who are they chasing?” Bail wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” Padmé whispered. Her heart, though, was filled with cold dread. The way those droids had their photoreceptors fixed unblinkingly on the train, and the dogged single-mindedness with which they pursued it, made her think that the quarry had to be someone very important.

***

Hours later, in the early afternoon, Padmé stood in Nicandra Plaza, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of other beings.

On a HoloNet screen suspended above the plaza, a live image played of a tremendous space battle. This battle was not taking place in some far-flung system on the Outer Rim. No: it was happening directly over Coruscant, and anyone who wanted further proof need only look to the skies to see the flashes of laserfire and burning streamers of ships falling into the atmosphere.

What everyone had first thought to be a full-scale invasion of the galactic capital, a last desperate move by the Separatists, had in fact only been a distraction. A terrorist strike to twist the knife of fear sharply into the hearts of the Republic’s denizens. When the vulture droids and droid gunships departed, beings across the planet — and indeed, the galaxy — cheered. They shouted to each other that the day had been won, that the impossible had been accomplished. Against all odds, the Confederacy had been driven back once more. True, it had come at a price: large sections of the city-planet damaged or destroyed, millions killed, injured or trapped. But the Republic had won. That was what was important … right?

The most horrifying news was yet to come. Beings waited for the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic to make a statement. They waited for Palpatine to appear on the HoloNet and reassure them in his customary gentle manner that everything would be all right, that the good guys were still winning, that repairs could be made to the city and life would go on as usual.

The statement did not air; the promised reassurance did not appear. Instead, beings watched as the face that haunted every nightmare, the commander of the Separatist army, General Grievous, addressed the Republic live over the HoloNet. The general himself was frightening enough, but what he had to say was worse.

Chancellor Palpatine. Kidnapped. Held as a political prisoner. More likely than not, slated for execution. Grievous’s reputation for bloodthirstiness had been well-earned, after all.

In the midst of all the speculation, of all the worries and the fears, Padmé stood. She felt horribly alone. Obi-Wan was gone, Anakin was gone and now Palpatine had been kidnapped. Despite her many criticisms of the man, he was the Chancellor and, at times, seemed to be the only thing binding the Republic together. Surely, without him, it must all fly apart. What would a galaxy ruled by the Separatists be like? What would that mean for the Republic? Would the Jedi Order survive? Would she have a secure place to raise the children?

Once again she might have crumpled to the ground, let the emotions take over until she bled herself dry of grief, if she hadn’t felt a hand on her shoulder right then.

“Padmé, listen to me,” Bail Organa said as she fell into his embrace. “The Separatists have nothing to gain by killing Palpatine. He’ll be all right.”

Tears came then, and they came quickly. Padmé could feel her friend’s tunic wetting as she clutched him for support. “What if you’re wrong, Bail? What if they do kill him, and power falls into the hands of Mas Amedda and the rest of that gang? That doesn’t worry you? What if Alderaan is next on Grievous’s list of worlds to attack?”

“Of course it worries me,” Bail sighed. “I fear for Alderaan, but I have faith that won’t happen. This attack will put an end to the Outer Rim sieges. Obi-Wan, Anakin and the rest of the Jedi will be back here in the Core where they belong. And as for Mas Amedda, he won’t last a week. There are thousands of Senators who think as we do, Padmé. We’ll rally them into a force to be reckoned with. We’ll put the Republic back on course, even if we have to fight tooth and nail to overcome anyone who opposes us. We’ll get through this. No matter what.”

Padmé smiled slightly and looked down, eyes landing on the soft curve of her belly. “If only I could keep my concerns focused solely on the future of the Republic …”

Bail followed her gaze and squeezed her tightly once more. “Mon told me,” he whispered. “That the Jedi are willing to begin bending the no-attachment rule can only lead to positive influences in the long run. You have my congratulations and my best wishes, Padmé, as well as my assurances that my wife and I would do anything to protect you and your children. Mon says the same.”

“Thank you, Bail,” Padmé whispered back. “With all my heart … thank you.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

The Idea of Home

Home.

He was home.

Of course, Obi-Wan had no idea where his real home was, where he had truly come from. But even if he were to be returned there, he would not think of that place as home.

Home was Coruscant, where the Jedi Temple was located. And now, home for him was wherever Padmé happened to be.

He was quite certain now that she was on Coruscant, though not where their airtaxi would be landing, and the smile on his face confirmed that.

“Excited about seeing someone, Master?” Anakin grinned, nudging Obi-Wan in the ribs.

“Don’t be absurd,” Obi-Wan replied loudly enough for Palpatine to hear. The Chancellor did not appear to be listening in, but Obi-Wan knew that a person could understand much more than they let on. He didn’t want to take that chance. “I’m just glad to be back on Coruscant. Time at the front does wear on one after awhile.”

Anakin sighed and looked a little uncomfortable suddenly. “You have no idea.”

“Anakin …” Obi-Wan paused, wondering how best to phrase his query. “You — you’ve seemed different since the encounter with Dooku. Is there something wrong?”

“No! No, of course not,” Anakin quickly replied. “I just … you know, everything that’s happened today. Palpatine’s kidnapping, the battle, almost losing you, the fight with Dooku, the fact that I had to — well, that I was forced to …”

He trailed off, swallowing hard.

Obi-Wan rested a gentle hand on his companion’s shoulder. “It can’t have been easy for you,” he acknowledged. “None of this has been easy, not for anyone. But you have had to bear a particular burden, and you have done so with grace and humility. No one has the right to ask anything more. You rendered a great service to the Republic today. Every being who calls themselves a citizen is indebted to you.”

“Yeah, but the whole operation was your idea,” Anakin pointed out.

“Let us not forget that you rescued me from the buzz droids,” replied Obi-Wan. “And you killed Count Dooku, and you rescued the Chancellor carrying me unconscious on your back. To top it all off, somehow you managed to land what was left of that ship safely —”

“All because of your training, Master,” interrupted Anakin.

“Anakin, let’s be fair,” Obi-Wan said as the airtaxi juddered to a stop. “Today, you are the hero. And you deserve your glorious day with the politicians.”

Anakin bent his head towards Obi-Wan, watching Palpatine making his way to the door. “And where are you going?” he asked, winking suggestively at his Master.

Obi-Wan blushed. “We promised each other that we would meet at her apartment when I got back. If Padmé has been keeping a close eye on the HoloNet — and knowing her, she has — she’ll have learned that you and I are on-planet. If the press asks, tell them I’ve gone to report to the Council.”

“And if Master Windu asks?”

“He knows. There shouldn’t be any need to lie to him.”

Anakin grinned. “All right, but you owe me,” he said a little more loudly. “And not just for saving your skin for the tenth time.”

“Ninth,” Obi-Wan corrected. “That business on Cato Nemoidia doesn’t — doesn’t count. I’ll see you at the briefing.”

The door swished shut, and Obi-Wan turned to the airtaxi driver. “Five Hundred Republica, please.”

He felt a tingle slither up his spine even as he spoke the words.

***

She would never get out of bed again, not if she had to conduct all further Senate business from her apartment, Padmé had decided. The events of the morning had completely exhausted her, and soon after hearing the news of Palpatine’s kidnapping, she contacted her handmaidens and Captain Typho and requested that she be taken back to her apartment. Once there, she had collapsed into bed.

“M’lady?”

Padmé creaked open one eye. That, at the moment, was all she had the energy for. “Yes, Ellé?”

“So sorry to disturb you, but a strange man just rang the bell of your apartment and said he wanted to hide on your balcony. So … I let him,” the handmaiden said.

“Well — ah — that probably wasn’t the wisest decision in the galaxy,” Padmé exclaimed as she bolted out of bed and scrambled around her room, fastening a concealing cloak about herself and snatching a small blaster from her bedside table. Slowly she pushed the door to the bedroom open.

The blaster tumbled from her hand.

“OBI-WAN!” Padmé shrieked.

A moment later, she was wrapped in his embrace.

“Only joking, I knew it was Obi-Wan,” Ellé smiled from behind them.

For a second and an eternity, they held each other, Padmé clinging to Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan massaging her back, stroking her hair, both delighting in the simple comfort of the other’s presence. She found that she could not stop the tears, though she had no idea why she should be crying.

“Padmé, darling,” Obi-Wan whispered, “it’s all right. I’m home, I’m here.” He pulled her close again, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I missed you so much.”

Padmé found her voice at last. “I missed you too,” she murmured into his tunics. “There were whispers … that you’d been killed … I couldn’t — I tried to let go, but I just couldn’t …”

He sighed. “You’re not a Jedi, darling. You shouldn’t be expected or required to let go. I’m sorry if I ever gave you that impression.”

“You didn’t,” Padmé assured him. “I suppose sometimes hanging around with Jedi so much, it rubs off on you.”

“Well, in an ideal galaxy you wouldn’t even have to think about it,” Obi-Wan said. “And I don’t want you to think about it now. I’m fine, I’m here and I’m alive. It’s going to be all right.”

“But this injury …” She reached up, lightly fingering the smears of blood on his head.

“Oh, that,” Obi-Wan chuckled. “A friendly parting gift from a certain Sith Lord. Thankfully my head is rather harder than a space cruiser’s walls, or so it would appear.”

Padmé giggled in spite of herself. “Well, I’m glad,” she replied. “The last time you met Dooku, he almost cut your leg off.”

“I’m glad too.”

He found he could no longer restrain himself, and he bent to kiss her. She responded immediately, and fiercely, the soft contact beginning slowly to erase the difficulties of the last months. And again, for that moment, time did not exist; there was only their love and the desire to make up for months of separation with just one kiss.

Then a baby kicked, and Padmé smiled against her partner’s lips, remembering that she had more to celebrate with him than just his return.

Obi-Wan, always sensitive to her moods, smiled as well. “What is it?” he asked.

“I have something to show you,” Padmé whispered.

Slowly she backed away, and reached a hand up to undo the clasp of her cloak. It came away easily and the robe dropped, revealing her swollen belly.

Padmé wished she could have had a holocam to record the look on Obi-Wan’s face. His expression was at first confusion, then anticipation, then surprise as he saw her fully in profile.

“Is that — are you —?” Obi-Wan gasped.

In answer she smiled, and took his hand, placing it upon her stomach. Almost as if she had willed it to happen, one of the children kicked again, and again, so hard that Obi-Wan’s hand was momentarily dislodged.

“Padmé!” he cried, and she could tell it was a cry of happiness because next second he had taken her in his arms, grabbed her and twirled her around before kissing her once more as he set her down.

“Twins,” was all she could muster.

That stopped him cold. “Twins? P-Padmé, are you sure?”

“Would you like to see their holoimages?” Padmé said, and for the first time in months, she was glowing with happiness.

“Padmé.” Obi-Wan kissed her again. She could see tears glistening in his eyes. “That is … absolutely … the most wonderful news I could have come home to. How long have you known?”

“About four months now,” she replied. “I’m soon to deliver, and the medical droid I’m seeing says everything is as it should be. No sign of any trouble with the pregnancy, and the children are very healthy.”

He relaxed visibly at these words. “So — so you’re not in any danger of losing them? I mean … I hate to even talk like that, but …”

“Believe me, the thought occurred to me more than once,” Padmé sighed. “I tossed and turned a lot, wondering what I would do if it happened, wondering if I could cope. But it’s been going fine. I’m a lot more tired than I was with the first, but at least we’re beyond the point at which most miscarriages happen.” She lowered herself onto her couch, massaging her belly softly. “Like or not, the twins are here to stay.”

“Padmé … I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a long time,” Obi-Wan began. He sat next to her, clasping her hand lightly. “I know there are many obstacles to what I’m about to suggest. The war, the Code … but I’ve thought about this. The miscarriage, and being apart from you during the Outer Rim sieges, made me realize that love for you is as much a part of me as my Jedi training. And now, now that we’ve got the children, I think it’s time.”

“Time?” Padmé said, regarding him quizzically. “Time for what?”

She sucked in a breath as he dropped to one knee.

“I — erm, I gather this is the custom on Naboo,” Obi-Wan chuckled nervously. Awkwardly he cleared his throat. Clasped both her hands in his. “Padmé Amidala, will you marry me?”

How she had dreamed of this moment!

How she had dreamed, after her parents forbade her to see him, that he would one day come to love her regardless, and that they would wed. How she had dreamed that he would cook her a romantic supper, and in the middle of it would drop to one knee and declare his undying love. How she had dreamed that they would live with one another after a large wedding, a wedding at which both her parents were present and smiling …

Padmé’s dreams had not included a pregnancy, or that Obi-Wan would leave periodically to fight a war, or that they would go for long periods of time without seeing each other.

But she quickly found that none of this mattered.

“Yes,” whispered Padmé.

Her arms wound around his neck, and the world vanished as they shared another kiss.

***

“You have to leave soon, don’t you,” Padmé sighed. “Again.”

Obi-Wan sighed too. “Yes, at some point I will eventually have to report to the Council. I’d prefer not to press my luck too far, even though they’ve been tolerant.”

She moved over in the bed, pillowing her head against him and delighting in the feel of his skin on her cheek. “What are they going to say about this, Obi-Wan? Are we even going to tell them?”

“I don’t doubt there will come a time when we can’t avoid it,” Obi-Wan said slowly, “but perhaps we shouldn’t be as hasty. The assassins, the war … I worry about letting many beings know.”

Padmé voiced the concern that neither of them had dared to speak. “What about Anakin?”

“Padmé, I can’t keep it from him. Nor do I want to. We promised each other that we would be honest about our lives, and I’m not prepared to begin lying again. He will just have to … deal with it, I suppose. Nothing about this situation is fair.”

“Tell me about it,” she said bitterly. “I’m happy, I really am, but — we’re still here, we’re still on Coruscant. We can’t just fly home and marry like so many other beings would. I want that life we keep talking about, Obi-Wan. I don’t think I can wait much longer, and I know it’s not fair to either of us … it’s just, I’ve spent four months thinking about this and I don’t want to raise my children in a war zone. I don’t want them to stare out the window every night wondering whether they’ll ever see their father again. I don’t want them to be afraid of lightning wars, and evil. … Am I making sense?” Padmé added hesitantly.

Obi-Wan stroked her hair softly with one hand, draping the other over the swell of her belly. “Of course you are, darling. I want the same things.”

“I just want to marry you and settle down and raise the twins.” Padmé discovered she was near tears. “Maybe be an activist on the side, continue my duties in the Senate if I can. Is that too much to ask?”

He pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her, letting her grieve for the life they should have had. For the life that might still be denied to them if the war continued.

“No,” he said in a tone of voice she’d never heard him use. “No, it’s not. Padmé, look at me.”

She stared up at him, swiping at her eyes.

“Padmé, when the war is over, no matter the result — though I certainly hope it ends in the Republic’s favour — I’m going to resign my commission in the Jedi Order,” Obi-Wan told her.

Padmé sat bolt upright. “No, Obi-Wan, you can’t! You just — being a Jedi is your life, it’s what you were born to do, it’s all you’ve ever known —”

“That’s not true.” Obi-Wan lifted his fingers to stroke her cheek. “You’re right, in a sense. At one time, being a Jedi was all I’d ever known. The Order was my life, it was where I’d grown up and the beings I served with were my family. They still are. But now, I’ve got another family. You and the babies. You can’t replace the Jedi. But neither can the Jedi replace you. I love you all, for different reasons. The Force has given me a gift. It’s allowing me to start over. I want to make the right choices this time.”

“But — but —” She was dumbfounded. “How could you just — you’re giving up your future for me, you’re giving up Anakin … don’t they need you?”

“Of course they need me. But I have given them many years of distinguished service. It’s partly because of that distinguished service that the Council has permitted our relationship to proceed. And the Order … the Order is not changing as quickly as I had hoped it might. Many are still set in the old ways, too determined to conform to tradition. There’s something to be said for striking out, starting something new. And as much as the Jedi need me, there are three people next to me who will need me even more, very soon.” He let out a long, shuddering sigh. “And you’re exactly right. I don’t want my children to grow up without their father, or their mother either. That’s a burden no one should place on a child.”

Padmé paused, trying to gather her thoughts. “It’s not that I’m not happy about this,” she said finally, lying back down. “I am. I just don’t want you to make a decision you’ll regret. I don’t want you to feel as though you’ve had to stop being who you are, just for me. I could never put that on your shoulders. I promised myself when we first fell in love that I would never make you choose between me and the Jedi. That wouldn’t be fair of me, no matter how much I might want it.” She drew in a breath. “What I said to you during my first pregnancy is still true: if you want to walk away, with no regrets, do it. I will grieve for you, but I won’t stand in your way.”

“No, Padmé,” said Obi-Wan simply. “The time for that discussion is long past. I am not going to abandon you and the children. I love you. I cannot state it any more plainly than that. And I am leaving the Order. I need to do so to marry you. I want us to have that life we keep talking about.”

Padmé could think of no adequate words that suited the situation, so she pulled him towards her and kissed him, again and again. He responded, both of them gasping with need for each other, until the desire to breathe overwhelmed them.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” was the soft response.

Emotions clashed inside her, fear and sorrow and excitement and love, until she thought she would burst from having to contain them all. One feeling was quickly overtaking the others, however, borne of being in close proximity to her love for the first time in seven months: desire.

“How much time do you have?” Padmé asked.

“Oh …” Obi-Wan squinted at the chrono. “Probably a little more. Why?”

“Obi-Wan, it’s been so long … I thought we could …” Padmé let the sentence trail and moved closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and slowly grinding against him. She could feel him responding unconsciously, his groin stiffening as he drew in a sharp breath.

“Are you sure —” He had to swallow hard before continuing. “Are you sure it’s safe? I — I don’t want to hurt the babies. Or you.”

“The medical droid says it’s fine,” Padmé replied. “Especially at this late stage of the pregnancy. No harm will come to us, I promise you.”

Obi-Wan relaxed visibly, and she realized just how concerned he had been. It made her love him all the more.

They had moved to her bedroom soon after Obi-Wan’s arrival at her apartment, and she’d helped him remove his upper tunics so they could better cuddle with each other. This left only the lower clothing, which proved no obstacle at all to Padmé’s nimble fingers.

A gasp escaped Obi-Wan’s lips as she grasped his flesh and ran her fingers lightly along the shaft. He thrust unconsciously into her hand, remembering suddenly how wonderful this felt, wondering why he hadn’t approached her before now because they had not done this in seven months and how could he have gone on that long and stars, he had forgotten how good she was at this …

He might have arrived right then had she not abruptly removed her hand, using it to pull him towards her for a long kiss.

“Padmé …” It came out almost as a whine. “Please …”

“Yes, darling,” Padmé whispered. Kissing Obi-Wan once more, she moved as close to him as the pregnancy would allow, and slowly guided him inside her.

Obi-Wan was unused to her taking the initiative, but he soon decided he liked it. How he had missed this! Oh, he had thought of her many nights, alone in his tent on distant planets, sometimes bold enough to slip a hand below the waistband of his sleep pants if he could be sure of his solitude. He forgot this loneliness now as her wetness enveloped him, inviting him to take her.

Which he did.

The air was soon filled with the sounds of their lovemaking. Obi-Wan thrust slowly into her, gradually picking up the pace as she arched beneath him and demanded he go faster. He had never heard her beg before, fix her brown eyes on his and moan, “Oh Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, please … please …” Whether hormones or simple proximity were the cause, he loved it.

Padmé came first, her muscles contracting around him as she whispered his name. She held out her arms and he collapsed gratefully into them, his climax breaking over him in rolling waves.

Obi-Wan gazed up at her, eyes full of inexpressible love.

“Welcome home,” she said serenely.

***

An hour later, Padmé sat fully dressed in her office, reviewing a Senate report about the day’s attacks. She thought it likely that Bail would soon contact her about the new amendments Palpatine was sure to push through, and she wanted to be ready to discuss them.

She was not, however, expecting any visitors, so it came as a surprise when Threepio tottered in.

“Mistress Padmé, might I announce a most honoured guest? Master Anakin has arrived on your landing pad!”

“Ani?” Padmé looked up from her work. If anyone, she had thought Obi-Wan might return, but it was far too early. “All right. Please tell him I will be out in a moment.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

She rose and walked to her office window, peering out at the darkening sky. Padmé knew that Obi-Wan wanted their friend to be informed of the pregnancy, and perhaps even of their engagement, but deciding to tell him was somewhat different than just talking about it. Especially since she suspected — no, knew — that Anakin still had feelings for her. They had moved beyond that a long time ago, and simply didn’t discuss it anymore, but nevertheless she wondered how he would feel. Would he be happy? Jealous? Angry?

I’ll tell him about the pregnancy first, she thought. Perhaps our engagement is something better left to Obi-Wan, since he’ll be leaving the Order because of it.

Padmé saved the work on her datapad, decided against putting on a concealing robe, and hastened downstairs.

Sure enough, Anakin was waiting. He seemed to have grown even taller in the months since she had seen him last, and his hair was darker. But much about him was still the same: the lanky, confident air, the way he paced as though no room could possibly contain his boundless energy. She beamed at the sight of him.

“Ani,” Padmé said happily, as he turned.

“Padmé.” He was smiling just as broadly. “How are you?”

“Fine, thank you. Goddesses, when are you ever going to stop growing?” she grinned as she reached up to embrace him. “Soon I’m going to need a repulsorlift!”

Anakin laughed. “Obi-Wan complains about it too,” he admitted sheepishly. “First Qui-Gon towered over him, and now I do. I think he’s sick of being short.”

“Just imagine how I feel,” Padmé retorted, and they both chuckled.

“It’s wonderful to see you again,” he said as they seated themselves on her couch. “Although …” Anakin’s eyes lingered on her abdomen. “You look — um, you look —”

“Like I’ve put on a bit of weight?” chuckled Padmé. “I don’t doubt it. Obi-Wan and I … well, I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widened, and he looked quickly back up and down again. “Well, that’s … that’s … that’s won — that’s wonderful,” Anakin managed to say. “Does, um, does he know yet?”

She nodded. “I just told him this afternoon. He was very happy.”

“I would imagine so,” Anakin replied. “I think he’s still pretty upset about your miscarriage. He admitted as much to me on one of our missions in the Outer Rim. And, well, I can see why, really. I’d have been upset too.”

“We both were,” Padmé said. “But we talked about it for a long time this afternoon, and we agreed that this is like a chance to start over, to learn from our previous mistakes. So that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Is he going to tell the Council?”

Eventually he’ll have to, she thought. “I’m not sure. He didn’t say. I suppose he will at some point.”

Anakin gazed towards the Coruscanti skyline. “Padmé, did you see the reports about the battle today?”

“Well, yes, of course,” replied Padmé, thrown by the sudden change in subject. “I was just reading a HoloNet article about it. Apparently two very heroic Jedi Knights managed to sneak aboard the Invisible Hand, rescue the Chancellor, take control of the vessel and pilot it to a safe landing on Coruscant, away from inhabited areas.”

She grinned at him, but he did not return the smile.

“That’s what they want you to believe,” Anakin muttered darkly.

“Ani, what are you talking about?” Padmé said in puzzlement.

“That’s just — it’s just —” He stood and began pacing. “They want to make me out to be some kind of hero, some sort of saviour. I’ve read the reports. I know what they’re saying. And it’s not true. It’s just not true.”

“What do you mean it’s not true?” She rose as well, went to him, put her hand on his shoulder. “Anakin, your accomplishments far outshine any other Jedi … any other man. There have been three or four battles in this war that you’ve almost singlehandedly won! How can you say you’re not a hero?”

“Because I’m not,” Anakin said shakily. “I’m just … not.”

“Why not?”

He took a deep, shuddering breath. Tried to swallow the emotion clogging his throat.

“Padmé … have you ever looked into a man’s eyes, heard the fear in his voice as he begs for mercy, begs you not to kill him — and then killed him anyway?”

Padmé blinked. “No, I can’t say as I have.”

“And in your heart of hearts, you know the man has committed atrocities, you know he’s pitted two sides of a galaxy against each other, you know he’s ordered the death of the woman you like … love … more than anything without a second thought, you know he’s got the blood of millions on his hands,” Anakin rambled on. “Does a man like that deserve to die, for what he has done? Or does he deserve mercy, because you’ve been trained that all beings should be treated with compassion? Especially if he begs for it. Especially if, when you could kill him, he looks into your eyes and asks to be spared? What do you do, Padmé? What do you do?”

His voice was raw and ragged, and he sounded close to tears.

“Anakin, these are some very difficult questions you’re asking,” Padmé said. “Beings have grappled with them since the creation of the galaxy.”

“Yes, exactly. But no one knows. No one has an answer yet. No one can say, look, this is what you should do in this situation and this is the action you should take if that comes up. Because it’s war, and the rulebook has been shredded.” He ran a hand over his eyes. “And sometimes you do things and hate yourself later. Because even if they seemed right then, they’ll never really be right.”

He was shuddering now. The shudders came from Jabiim. From Geonosis. From Tatooine, and the Tusken camp.

From the fire that had shined in a dying man’s eyes, fire generated by blue plasma and a synthetic bloodshine blade, crossed at his throat.

Padmé put her arms around him and held on. “Dooku,” she said.

“Dooku. And the orphaned Padawans. And Mom.” A tear snaked its way down his cheek.

She guided him to sit on her couch, still rubbing his back, still holding him.

“Nothing about this war is rational or logical,” Padmé murmured. “At the end of the day, all anyone has the right to ask is that you’ve done your best. For the galaxy, for your friends, and for yourself.”

“That’s the problem,” Anakin croaked. “I don’t know if I did my best. I don’t know if I did the right thing.”

“Well, only you can know that for sure,” she reasoned. “But Ani, you don’t have to go through this alone. You have friends who will support you. I’m always willing to listen. And I’m sure Obi-Wan is as well.”

He took a deep breath, seeming to gather his emotions.

“Padmé … well … thanks,” Anakin said finally, managing a small smile. “Just — thanks.”

With another slow breath, he calmed again. Her presence bolstered him.

***

Mace Windu looked as worried as Obi-Wan had ever seen him. Perhaps more worried than ever. The Force buckled and curled around him in ever more intricate patterns, patterns that the Master could not interpret. The office, too, hummed with anticipation and tension.

It was after the main Council meeting, which had lasted a full hour. Most of Obi-Wan’s report had been devoted to describing Palpatine’s rescue, and so he had not yet discussed Padmé’s pregnancy or his plans to marry her. He was not sure he wanted to do that in front of the full Council, in any case. Better to trust Yoda or Mace with that information first. He knew they would keep the secret if asked.

Engaged, Obi-Wan thought blankly. I’m engaged. I asked a woman, the woman I love more than anything, to marry me. And she said yes. We are going to be married. And then I’ll be a father to her children.

The facts did not seem to compute. But he knew undeniably that they were true, and he also knew he was happier than he had ever been.

For now, though, he needed to focus. And he was good at that.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Obi-Wan asked.

Mace nodded, gesturing to one of the soft chairs. Obi-Wan sat.

“It’s Anakin,” the Korun Master said without preamble. “I don’t like his relationship with Palpatine.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” Obi-Wan said cautiously. It was true — they had spoken of this matter more often than he cared to remember.

“There is something between them,” Mace persisted. “Something new. I could see it in the Force today, when they greeted me at the Senate building. It felt powerful, and incredibly dangerous.”

“I trust Anakin with my life.” The declaration was uttered firmly and with conviction.

“I know you do,” Mace said grimly. “I only wish we could trust the Chancellor with Anakin’s.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Yes. Palpatine’s policies are … sometimes questionable. But he dotes on Anakin like a kindly old uncle on his favourite nephew.”

Mace sighed, squinting out the window. “The Chancellor loves power. If he has any other passion, I have not seen it.”

“I recall that not so long ago, you were something of an admirer of his,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“Things change.”

Obi-Wan sighed too, running a hand over his beard. He could not imagine a more truthful statement. Four years ago, he certainly would not have pictured himself in his current situation: on the Jedi Council, Anakin a full Knight, Padmé not only pregnant with his children but also having agreed to marry him — and most of all, his resignation from the Order. Yes, things certainly had changed.

“What would you have me do?” Obi-Wan asked tiredly.

“I am not certain,” Mace admitted. “You know my power; I cannot always interpret what I’ve seen. Be alert. Be mindful of Anakin, and be careful of Palpatine. He is not to be trusted, and his influence on Anakin is dangerous.”

“But Anakin is the Chosen One —” Obi-Wan began.

“All the more reason to fear an outsider’s influence,” Mace interrupted. “We have circumstantial evidence that traces Sidious to Palpatine’s inner circle.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. “Are — are you certain?”

“Nothing is certain. But this raid — the capture of Palpatine had to be an inside job. And the timing … we were closing in on him, Obi-Wan! The information you and Anakin discovered — we had traced the Sith Lord to an abandoned factory in The Works, not far from where Anakin landed the cruiser. When the attack began, we were tracking him through the downlevel tunnels.” Mace sucked in a breath. “The trail led to the sub-basement of Five Hundred Republica.”

The mention of one of the most exclusive addresses on Coruscant prickled the fine hairs on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. The most rich and powerful lived there: Palpatine. Many influential Senators.

Padmé.

“Oh,” he managed.

“We have to face the possibility — the probability — that what Dooku told you on Geonosis was actually true,” Mace said grimly. “That the Senate is under the influence and control of Darth Sidious. That it has been for years.”

“Do you — do you have any suspects?” Obi-Wan croaked.

The Korun Master interlaced his fingers and squeezed so hard the knuckles cracked. “Too many. All we know of Sidious is that he’s bipedal, of roughly human conformation. Sate Pestage springs to mind. I wouldn’t rule out Mas Amedda, either. The Sith Lord may even be hiding among the Red Guards. There’s no way to know.”

“Who’s handling the questioning? I’d be happy to sit in; my perceptions are not so refined as some, but —”

Mace snorted. “Interrogate the Supreme Chancellor’s personal aides and advisors? Impossible.”

“But —”

“Palpatine will never allow it,” Mace said firmly. “Though he hasn’t said so, I’m not sure he even believes the Sith exist.”

“But — that’s impossible, how can he —”

“Look at it from his point of view. The only real evidence we have is Dooku’s word. And a lot of good that will do us now, without the man alive to back it up.”

Obi-Wan forced open the clench that had settled around his heart. “The Sith Lord on Naboo,” he said hesitantly, “the Zabrak who killed Qui-Gon …”

It still hurt to speak of that incident, no matter how much he wished it didn’t.

“Destroyed,” Mace replied. “As you know. Relations with the Chancellor’s office have — deteriorated. I feel he has lost his trust in the Jedi. I have certainly lost my trust in him.”

“But he doesn’t have the authority to interfere with a Jedi investigation,” Obi-Wan protested. “… Does he?”

The elder Jedi all but rolled his eyes. “The Senate has surrendered so much power, it’s hard to tell where his authority stops.”

The clench settled in again. “It’s that bad?”

“The only reason Palpatine’s not a suspect is because he already rules the galaxy,” Mace said grimly.

“But we are closer than we have ever been to rooting out the Sith,” replied Obi-Wan. “That can only be good news. I would think that Anakin’s friendship with Palpatine could be of use to us in this. He has the kind of access to Palpatine that other Jedi might only dream of. Their friendship is an asset, not a danger.”

“You cannot tell him,” Mace insisted.

Obi-Wan blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Of the whole Council, only Yoda and myself know how deep this actually goes,” Mace explained. “And now you. I have decided to share this with you because you are in the best situation to watch Anakin. Watch him. Nothing more.”

“We do not keep secrets from each other,” insisted Obi-Wan. “Not anymore.”

“You must keep this one.” Mace’s tone left no room for argument. “Skywalker is arguably the most powerful Jedi alive, and he is still getting stronger. But he is not stable. You know it. We all do. It is why he cannot be given Mastership. We must keep him off the Council, despite his extraordinary gifts. And Jedi prophecy … is not absolute. The less he has to do with Palpatine, the better.”

“But surely —” Obi-Wan paused, wondering how he could possibly circumvent this. The last thing he wanted to do was begin keeping secrets from his friend once again, so soon after they had promised to be honest with one another. He intended to tell Anakin of Padmé’s pregnancy as soon as he could — providing, of course, that she had not already done that. And the engagement … well, that would be trickier, but the last thing he wanted to do was keep that inside.

And yet this was far more serious than babies or weddings.

“What can I tell him?”

“Tell him nothing,” was Mace’s final word. “I sense the dark side around him. Around them both.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Dreamweaver

This was why Obi-Wan had fought the war.

He had fought the war for moments like this. Moments when he could slip into Padmé’s apartment as Coruscant’s orbital mirrors rotated to their evening setting and she stood on her balcony. Already prepared for bed, wearing a soft blue nightdress, Padmé brushed her hair and hummed softly to herself.

Or perhaps not to herself. Perhaps to the children.

He caught his breath at the thought, and leaned against the balcony’s entrance to watch her.

Obi-Wan had done his duty during the long months away. He had followed orders, he had won battles, and he had been appointed to the Jedi Council in recognition of his services. When focus was needed, there was no Jedi — no man — who could focus better. When strategy was needed, he applied himself dutifully and completely to the task. He had never been one to let outside influences colour his perceptions, and during wartime this was a crucial skill to possess.

But he had never let himself lose sight of precisely what, and who, he was fighting for.

She had helped him in many ways, although in all likelihood she was oblivious to this. In his tent at night, alone or perhaps with Anakin, Obi-Wan had pictured her face. He’d imagined her voice, and recalled their last encounter. And, concentrating hard, he’d entered the Force and spoken to her.

Padmé, darling, I’m here. I’m all right. I’ll see you again soon, I promise.

I love you.

When Obi-Wan had been captured by Asajj Ventress, captured and made to endure the torture she inflicted, he drew upon the only strength he had left to survive the pain and the hopelessness: Padmé.

Sometimes he pretended that she was with him, comforting him as wave upon wave of agony broke through his body, sponging the sweat from his brow, telling him that he must go on and that he could not die there. Sometimes when a little strength returned to him, he pretended he could hear her voice speaking to him. Sometimes she reminded him of the future they had planned together. Sometimes she just said his name, over and over, in that wonderful way.

Ironically, Obi-Wan was behaving precisely as the Jedi had been taught to during situations of extreme torture. All Jedi had learned that in order to survive those circumstances, they must choose something to fixate upon, never letting that fixation slip from their minds. Of course, they were also taught that the “something” must always be the Force. Only through sinking into the Force could they survive.

But Ventress was intelligent as well as brutal, and she knew precisely what survival techniques were typically employed. She fitted Obi-Wan with a mask that severed his connection to the Force. She was sure that this would break him — that if Kenobi, the consummate Jedi, could no longer access the energy field that calmed him and gave him strength, he would be lost. And he would be hers, to remold into a Sith warrior.

She had not bargained on his possessing an alternate form of strength.

And although Obi-Wan’s memories of his time with Ventress were fuzzy at best, he knew exactly what — who — that strength had been.

Padmé moved the brush through her hair, concentrating on the back now.

“Good evening,” Obi-Wan said softly.

She jumped, but only a little, and her smile was radiant as she turned. “When did you get here?”

Obi-Wan swallowed against the emotion suddenly clogging his throat. “Just — just a few moments ago. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

“Please, darling, don’t worry about it,” Padmé replied. She came to him then, bringing her hand up to caress his cheek softly. Concern creased her face. “Are you all right?”

He’d forgotten that she was often as sensitive to his moods as he was to hers. He took her hand in his, gently kissing each finger. “I was just thinking about how happy I am to be home.”

She didn’t seem fooled. “But you look upset.”

Obi-Wan gazed out towards the Coruscanti skyline, lit by the thousands of buildings dotting the planet’s surface and, tonight, the many fires that still burned from flaming debris. The city looked like he felt: torn and broken inside, but striving to recover.

“This was probably … the most difficult set of missions yet,” Obi-Wan admitted. “Physically and emotionally. I just want to move on, I just don’t want to have to think about any of it. All I want …” His voice shook, and Padmé wrapped her arms around him for support. “All I want is for it to be over, for us to go back to Naboo or wherever and have the children and … finally live that life we keep talking about, without war.” Obi-Wan looked into her eyes almost pleadingly. “Is that so much to ask?”

“Of course not.” She kissed him softly, and he began finally to relax at her touch. “Obi-Wan, we will have that life. I know it. It’s not just a dream.”

He exhaled shakily. “How do you know?”

“I want to have the babies back home on Naboo,” Padmé said. “There’s probably only a month of my pregnancy left, if not less. I want us to be ready then.”

“But, but if the war isn’t over —”

She smiled. “If the war isn’t over, apply for shore leave. You said it yourself earlier: you’ve given the Jedi Order so much. Your service record speaks for itself. You don’t owe them anything more. You’re already going to leave, right?”

“Yes, after the war. There’s a difference,” Obi-Wan insisted. “There’s a difference between leaving the Order after the galaxy is secure and walking out on them right in the middle of a war, when they need me the most. I can’t refuse a mission that might bring an end to the conflict, however much I might want to.”

Abruptly Padmé dropped her arms back to her sides, an emotionless mask clamping into place over her delicate features. “You must do what you think is right, of course,” she said, picking up the brush from the table where she’d left it and beginning to run it through her hair again.

Obi-Wan felt guilt twist in the pit of his stomach. This had often been a point of conflict between them — how torn he felt about his dual role as Jedi and lover, and now, father. To her credit, Padmé tried to cope as best she could, but sometimes, as now, the strain showed through. The pregnancy, too, did not allow for much emotional flexibility. I shouldn’t be so hypocritical, saying one thing and then a second later saying another, he thought.

He went up behind her, running his fingers gently through her hair. “Darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I want to be with you when the twins are born.”

It was Padmé’s turn to draw a shaky breath. “I’m sorry too,” she whispered. “I forget, sometimes, how important the Order is to you. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. It’s very selfish of me.”

Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around her in one of the backwards embraces she loved so much. “You’re not selfish. You’re one of the most unselfish people I know. And I promise you, I will do absolutely everything within my power to be with you and the children.”

She kissed him again, murmuring a soft “Thank you” against his lips.

***

Obi-Wan reclined in their bed, sighing softly as her fingers wound through his hair. They snaked down his neck, caressing carefully, occasionally drawing him in close for a kiss. He savoured the gentle intimacy, so absent in the last few months.

Neither were his hands idle. He moved slow and deliberate fingers over Padmé’s chest, slipping them beneath her nightgown to cup her milk-full breasts. She moaned a little, nipples stiffening under his touch, and Obi-Wan slid his hand lower and onto her stomach.

He was jolted abruptly from his daydream by a hard kick, aimed directly at his palm.

“Mmm,” Obi-Wan mused. “Someone apparently wants me to share you.”

Padmé laughed. “It’s not just you, actually. They always do this. Whenever I’m trying to settle down and sleep, that’s when the babies seem to become the most active. Maybe they’re just happy their father’s home.”

“But — would they even know —” He broke off; the idea seemed absurd.

“I’d like to think it’s possible,” Padmé said quietly. “Given who their parents are, it’s probably safe to assume they’re Force-sensitive. Perhaps they can feel your presence, even if they can’t see you.”

Obi-Wan nodded, then sank slowly into the current of the Force, feeling the energy field flow around and through him. He could see Padmé’s signature as it had always appeared to him, a bright, shining, comforting presence. And if he reached inside her, if he became one with her … he could feel the beat of her heart, he could become her breath as it cycled in and out. And he could feel the children. It was a kind of life he had never imagined, thoughts and feelings cascading through him faster than he could measure, tiny arms and legs kicking and squirming and beating at Padmé’s womb. Obi-Wan knew, just as surely as he knew that kindness was good and pain bad, that these babies were his. That he had created them with Padmé, and created them out of love.

Hello, little ones, he whispered into the Force. I love you, and I love your mother … so very, very much.

He let go of the current, allowed it to float on without him, and blinked. His cheeks were wet with tears.

Padmé was smiling broadly. “What did you do?” she asked. “They were kicking hard, and then all of a sudden … they seemed to quiet down. Did you do that?”

“Well —” Obi-Wan found his voice choked with emotion, and he had to clear his throat before he could go on. “Yes. I was just — sometimes, if you’re in close proximity to a person with whom you feel a special connection, you can … well, become part of them, in a sense, through the Force. I wanted to see if I could reach the twins, and …”

She brushed the wetness from his cheeks. “And you did.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes. I did.”

Padmé pulled him close, and they held each other, not speaking, for a long while.

“I wasn’t crying because I was upset,” Obi-Wan said gently.

“I know. Neither was I.”

She stroked his hair as they drifted to sleep.

***

“Watch me, Uncle Anakin!”

The little girl giggled as she approached the shaak, moving up on it as one might approach a frightened bantha. Her brown curls, tied in a braid hanging down her back, bounced as she walked.

“Are you watching me?” she called.

Anakin laughed; it was a laugh of pure joy. “Yes, my dear. I’m watching.”

The boy was sitting in his lap, one thumb tucked securely in his mouth. His eyes were wide as he watched his sister take one final step towards the shaak, then with a sudden leap, land on its back.

“Hey, little one, you want to join her?” Anakin asked, ruffling the child’s hair. “I could show you how, if you like. I did it once myself.”

The boy shook his head. “No, thanks. I wanna stay here wif you.”

“Watch me, Uncle Anakin!” the girl trilled, and he quickly turned his attention back to her.

She stood up shakily, arms held out wide, and balanced carefully on the creature’s back. “I’m doing it! I’m really doing it!”

“Ah, but can you ride him?” Anakin asked.

The girl blinked. “Ride him?”

“Yes. I’ve done it. You’ve got to be real careful, but as long as you calm him with the Force, you can do it!”

“Anakin Skywalker, you aren’t teaching my children to ride shaaks, are you?” Obi-Wan’s voice rang out behind him.

Anakin shrugged. “Well, hey, it’s better than teaching them to pilot starfighters,” he said sheepishly.

Obi-Wan stretched out on the grass between them. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“How do you ride them, Uncle Anakin?” the girl called out.

“Well, like I said, you’ve got to calm them first,” Anakin replied. “Reach into the Force and sort of … pretend like you’re petting him. Tell him everything’s going to be okay, that you aren’t going to hurt him. And then, tell him to go forward.”

“Okay.” She giggled and he could see her reaching, eyes closed, hands still held out. Slowly, the shaak began to move forward, walking, then trotting, then cantering. “I’m doing it! I’m doing it!”

The creature bucked violently, and its rider suddenly pitched forwards. Her mouth opened wide in a scream, Anakin dove towards her …

The image swirled, and suddenly it was Padmé screaming.

She was lying on a bleak white table, surrounding by beeping instruments and equipment. And she seemed to be in terrible pain, tears were streaking down her cheeks, and she opened her mouth wide to scream again. Anakin could only watch, horror-struck.

“Obi-Wan, help me!” Padmé shrieked. “Obi-Wan, please … I love you, please, help …”

She was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to stop it … she was going to die, just like his mother …

***

Anakin awoke with a jolt, gasping for air. Sweat trickled down his face and stung his eyes, but he paid no attention.

Padmé — NO —

It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t, Obi-Wan was with her and if something was going wrong, he would know —

But maybe, said a small voice in the back of Anakin’s mind, maybe the dream wasn’t about something that’s happening right now. Maybe it was about something that’s going to happen.

But what could happen to Padmé in the future? What could happen to make her scream like that, to make her beg for help, to kill her —?

The answer came to him in a flash.

Childbirth.

Padmé was going to die in childbirth.

He had seen it before, on Tatooine. One evening when he was six years old there was a frantic knock on the door of the slave hovel he shared with his mother. Jira, Anakin’s friend from the market, was half-supporting and half-carrying her daughter Asana, who was in the advanced stages of labour. Shmi did what she could to help the woman, using the various herbal preparations she had on hand, but it was no use. Asana and the baby died on the kitchen table, while Anakin peered out from his room.

He couldn’t let that happen to Padmé. He couldn’t.

Anakin scrabbled for his comlink, quickly keying in a level ten privacy code. A moment later, the shimmering form of Obi-Wan appeared. He was bleary-eyed even through the hologram.

“Anakin?” he mumbled, turning over in bed. “What — what’s the matter, what time is it?”

“I don’t know, Master,” Anakin said wildly. “But — but I just needed to — where’s Padmé, is she all right?”

Obi-Wan blinked. “Well — yes, of course. She’s right next to me.” The hologram panned to the left and Anakin could see her coming into wakefulness, turning over to see what was going on.

He wept with relief.

“Ani?” Padmé’s voice was coming through the comlink now. “Is something wrong?”

“Padmé, are you okay?” Anakin choked out.

She, too, looked confused. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“I — I don’t know,” he stammered. In his heart he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be okay again. “I — it was a dream.”

“Bad?” Padmé asked gently.

Conscious that Obi-Wan was listening, Anakin said carefully, “Like the ones I used to have about my mother, just before she died.”

She accepted this. “And?”

He could barely bring himself to say the next words. “It was about you.”

Obi-Wan sat up a little straighter and seemed to be about to get out of bed, but Padmé stopped him with one touch of her hand. “Tell me,” she said softly.

“You die in childbirth,” Anakin said desperately.

Padmé’s hand found her abdomen, clasping it tightly. “And the babies?”

“I don’t know.”

“It won’t happen, Padmé,” he assured her, though he still felt far from sure himself. “I won’t let it. I could have saved my mother if I’d just — this dream will not become real.”

“I didn’t think it would,” Padmé replied.

Anakin blinked. “You didn’t?”

She seemed to have sensed his previous thoughts. “This is Coruscant, Ani, not Tatooine. Women don’t die in childbirth on Coruscant — not even the twilighters in the downlevels. And I have a top-flight medical droid, who assures me I am in perfect health. Your dream must have been … some kind of metaphor, or something.”

“I — my dreams are literal, Padmé. Remember the one about the miscarriage? That one came true!”

“But your dreams have always been about things that were happening in the present,” Obi-Wan spoke up. “I’m not trying to pretend that this isn’t important, or frightening for you, because I know it is. But do you not find it strange that you would suddenly begin dreaming of events in the future?”

Anakin thought the matter over. On one hand he did agree that it was strange, but on the other … how could he afford to take this chance, if Padmé really was in danger?

“Maybe it’s just — maybe it’s just different for some reason, I don’t know why,” he said, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. “But I can’t — I can’t just ignore it, you know I can’t! What if it is true, and Padmé is going to die?”

“Ani, would it make you feel better if you sat in on one of my medical appointments?” Padmé asked. “My next one is just two days away. You could ask the droid any questions you have, and I’m sure it will be glad to give you statistics on how unlikely it is for a woman to die in childbirth these days.” The corners of her mouth lifted. “And you could see the babies on hologram. I’d love for you to be there. Wouldn’t you, darling?”

She was addressing Obi-Wan now. Anakin felt an unexpected knife twist in his stomach at hearing Padmé refer to Obi-Wan as “darling.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I think it would be wonderful, Anakin. I haven’t even seen them myself yet. Sharing this with you … well, I would love to as well.”

“Wait, wait a second,” Anakin blurted. “Did you say — them? And — babies?”

“Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you this afternoon,” Padmé laughed. “We’re having twins, Ani.”

“After you, I’d like to think I’m prepared for anything,” Obi-Wan added.

They all laughed, but to Anakin, the noise sounded false and mocking.

“Well,” he replied, “well, congratulations. Again.”

Obi-Wan and Padmé smiled at each other, and laughed again. This time, Anakin did not join in.

“So are you coming?” asked Padmé.

“Sure. I guess. It could be fun.”

I only said that to reassure them, Anakin reflected as he clicked off the comlink. It doesn’t matter how many medical droids see Padmé before the birth. My nightmares always come true. Always.

A darker thought entered his mind, and he paused in the act of putting the comlink back on his bedside table.

If I know in advance she’s going to die, maybe … maybe I could save her.

Jedi lore taught that the art of prophecy-making was an imprecise use of the Force, and that there were many ways it could go wrong. Anakin had heard them all at least a hundred times. By believing a vision to be true, a Jedi could be driven to the Dark Side through obsession with preventing the event from occurring, and that in their obsession, they would actually cause the event. But in this particular situation, the very idea seemed laughable to the point of absurdity. How could Anakin have killed his mother by going to rescue her? And how — how in the galaxy — could he end up killing Padmé himself in the act of saving her?

Yes, that was absurd.

Anakin stood and began to dress. Although it was early, he couldn’t think of going back to sleep when every second that passed might mean one less second Padmé had to live. He had no clue how he might go about the task, but he was sure he’d find a way eventually. He always did.

For Anakin Skywalker, impossible was just another word.

***

She woke once more to the feel of his fingers on her back.

But this time, she knew, he would not have to leave her.

Padmé was pleasantly surprised at how happy that thought made her.

She kept her eyes closed as she felt Obi-Wan’s fingers moving to her shoulders, stopping to squeeze and then lacing gently through her hair, moving it back from her face. Unconsciously Padmé leaned further back into his touch, and was soon rewarded with a grunt as her buttocks grazed his nether regions. He drew her closer, this time wrapping his arms around her and planting soft kisses on her neck.

“Good morning, darling,” Obi-Wan whispered.

“Good morning,” Padmé whispered back, finally opening her eyes.

A bright Coruscanti morning greeted her, sunlight peeking through the blinds beyond which thousands of speeders were already passing. Padmé was grateful that those blinds were closed; it would hardly do for some gossip-happy journalist to capture her in nothing but a nightgown with Obi-Wan’s arms around her. Goddesses, the scandal …

Then again, a sizeable scandal will erupt anyway when he leaves the Order to marry me, she reflected.

“Did you sleep well?” Obi-Wan asked presently.

Padmé grinned. “Better than I have in months. You?”

Turning to face him, she noticed that his blue eyes seemed troubled.

“Fine,” he said hastily.

“Obi-Wan, you’ve never been very good at hiding your feelings.”

He hugged her more tightly. “It’s silly, but … I keep thinking about Anakin’s dream last night. Most likely it’s nothing, although you do wonder.”

“What I told Ani was true,” Padmé countered. “No one dies in childbirth on Coruscant anymore. Medicine has advanced beyond that point. I could understand his concern if I was ill, or if there was some special risk factor, but there isn’t. The medical droid says I could not be healthier.”

“But — but you had been talking about going to Naboo to have the babies,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Varykino is rather isolated and I suddenly don’t like the idea of us being up there alone without any kind of medical assistance.”

“Women have been giving birth as long as civilization has existed. And plenty of them survived; otherwise there wouldn’t be any civilization. I’ll be fine.” Padmé looked him directly in the eye, her expression vehement.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you. Or to the children.” She could hear the unspoken pain in his voice.

“Anakin’s dreams have always been about things happening in the present,” Padmé reminded him. “And clearly, this isn’t. I’m not in labour, I’m not dying. There’s no risk to me personally. I don’t understand why he would suddenly be able to predict the future.” She reached up, caressing his cheek softly.

“Predictions of the future are a rather imprecise use of the Force,” Obi-Wan admitted. “And the fact that the vision is set in the future is a departure from his usual abilities. I shouldn’t allow myself to become so concerned.”

“We love each other,” she objected. “It’s only natural for us to worry about the other’s welfare.”

“No, Padmé, it is not,” said Obi-Wan firmly. “At least, not for me. I’m a Jedi. I must be prepared to allow things and people to pass out of my life. It’s all very well for me to be concerned about you and to love you, and to want the best for you. But if it is the will of the Force that you should pass on before me, or I before you, it would be selfish for me to cling to you or to life for my own purposes and desires. That is a path of misery; the Jedi do not walk it.”

“You have to do whatever you feel is best,” Padmé said, and though her words were similar to those she had spoken last night, these were said out of love and affection rather than anger. And they were accompanied by a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face.

“And I love you,” was the soft response.

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
I have not written for quite some time, which is ironic because there is so much happening in my life right now. Perhaps we only write in our personal records when we want to remember how exciting our lives can sometimes be. I’m sure there’s a philosophical message hidden somewhere in that pronouncement. But I have a special reason to write now: I want to leave a record for my children. I wish to bestow a clear account of precisely what events transpired in the month leading up to their birth, and perhaps the months after. I have a sense that many historical documents will one day record the events taking place now, but historical documents are always written with a clinical eye and without a desire to tell the stories of ordinary people. That untold story is what I want future generations to consider as they read these words.

So, my darlings, as I prepare to begin another day’s work at the Senate, this is where things stand.

Your father has returned to the Jedi Temple to attend a mission briefing with Masters Yoda and Windu. While there, Obi-Wan will talk to Anakin about his dream of last night. Neither your father nor I are setting much store by the nightmare, especially not while we have so few details about it. Anakin seemed to panic so badly when he contacted us early this morning, so surely whatever he witnessed must have been horrifying. And yet, we all have nightmares. They are endemic to every being, in every culture. I doubt there is anything to worry about.

I myself feel different today, whole, complete. It’s only Obi-Wan’s close presence that has made me realize how much I’ve missed him over the past months. And I have missed him terribly. But it isn’t only that. It’s the knowledge that at some point in the future, we will pledge our lives and ourselves to each other, that we will marry, and that we will do it in sight of and with the blessing of at least my family. I’m hoping some of the Jedi can be involved too given that they have been such an integral part of your father’s life. I know they will be upset at him for choosing to leave the Jedi Order, but unless they are willing to rescind their rule about marriage, he hardly has a choice. But I think it would be wonderful for Obi-Wan if Yoda was there … perhaps Master Windu … and most especially Anakin. Ani has been such a large part of both our lives. I couldn’t leave him out of such an important day, even though I recognize it may be difficult for him.

Today in the Senate I will meet with the Loyalist Committee and listen to a speech Palpatine has apparently written about the attack on Coruscant that happened yesterday. I’ve no doubt this speech will include an announcement that our civil liberties will continue to be tossed aside in favour of more security reforms. But so long as there are those of us opposed to these dictatorial policies, the galaxy still has hope. We can still fight, even if we must do it in more insidious ways.

And tomorrow … tomorrow I will see you both, because I am having what will likely be my final holoimaging session before your birth. I can’t wait. Neither can Obi-Wan. I’ve seen you several times before, and I have a few holoimages of you kicking and sucking your thumbs, but still holoimages do not compare to the real thing. Your father has never seen you. Nor has Anakin. I suspect they are both anxious to so, Obi-Wan in particular.

I must end off now, for Captain Typho has arrived with my speeder. Rest well, my darlings. I will write once more tomorrow.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

An Ounce of Reassurance

Anakin strode quickly down the Temple hallway. He paid no attention to the Jedi who passed him, or smiled at him, or bowed in respect. The story of Palpatine’s rescue was on every HoloNet channel in the galaxy today, and there were long feature articles about how much of a hero he was. Ordinarily he would have happily basked in the glow of such coverage, but not today. Not when every second that passed meant Padmé had one less second to live.

He was quite convinced now that this was what the dream had meant. After leaving his room, he’d gone to one of the Temple’s meditation rooms and attempted to seek guidance from the Force. Meditating was something that Anakin rarely did, because he considered himself so much a part of the Force anyway. Obi-Wan had bugged him about it almost constantly when they had been Master and Padawan. But today, now, Anakin felt he needed the Force’s help. Or Obi-Wan’s. Or Yoda’s. Or even Palpatine’s, even though the latter’s words would be worth more moral support than they would actual assistance.

The Force had not yielded any clues, other than that the dream promised almost certain death for Padmé and possibly her babies. Anakin had tried to speak to Obi-Wan when the latter returned to the Temple, but Obi-Wan was late for a mission briefing and could not spare the necessary time.

Perhaps if you’d spent a little less time in bed with Padmé this morning you might have arrived here on schedule, Anakin thought acidly as he watched his Master’s retreating back. Then he instantly berated himself for the jealousy and hurt in that statement. He should be happy for Obi-Wan, who had wanted to be a father since Padmé's miscarriage. Anakin also had to admit that he was excited to see — and perhaps be a sort of uncle to — the children of his two most favourite people in the galaxy. He thought of the dream he’d had before the intrusion of the nightmare, and smiled. In his mind’s eye he could vividly see himself spending shore leave in the Lake Country with Padmé and the twins, teaching them how to ride shaaks and levitate shuura fruit and wrestling with them …

But only if he could save their mother. The image could not be complete without Padmé. He could not be complete without Padmé. And he knew it would be very difficult for Obi-Wan to lose her.

I’m doing this for Obi-Wan, Anakin told himself, and headed resolutely towards Yoda’s meditation chamber.

A few moments later, however, he was feeling less reassured. Yoda sat on the circular seat in deep contemplation, fingers laced together. “Premonitions … premonitions, hmm. These visions you have …”

“They are of pain. Suffering. Death,” Anakin told him.

“Yourself you speak of, or someone you know?” Yoda asked.

Anakin hesitated. He wasn’t sure exactly how much the Jedi Master knew about Obi-Wan and Padmé’s relationship, nor whether Obi-Wan had informed Yoda of Padmé’s pregnancy. So he decided to play it safe.

“Someone …” The sentence trailed awkwardly.

“Close to you?” prompted Yoda.

“Yes,” Anakin admitted.

“Careful you must be when sensing the future, Anakin,” the Jedi Master warned. “The fear of loss is a path to the dark side.”

Don’t give me this kriffing Dark Side stuff! I need to know how stop this from happening, not how loss clouds judgment! Anakin wanted to shout. But he didn’t. Instead he said, “I won’t let these visions come true, Master Yoda.”

“Death is a natural part of life,” Yoda reminded him. “Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force. Mourn them do not. Miss them do not. Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed, that is.”

Anakin forced himself to stay calm. This was not the sort of advice he’d been hoping for. “What must I do?”

Yoda’s response was perhaps the most unhelpful of all. “Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.”

No! I could never do that! Padmé keeps me centred! She keeps me whole! Anakin’s mind screamed, forgetting all about helping Obi-Wan. In that moment there was only Padmé and the promise that she would die, the promise that the children would die with her, and the knowledge that he needed her.

That was the truth of it.

He needed her.

Anakin needed her calming influence, her unconditional acceptance, her uncritical appraisal. He needed her love. Padmé could not offer him romantic love. He knew she could not, and he had come to terms with that particular fact a long time ago. Anakin drew a certain amount of love from Obi-Wan, but it was the kind that a father would give a son, or a brother would offer a brother. Padmé, though, loved him for the man he was and the man he hoped he could be.

How could he stand to lose that love? Worse, how could he stand to lose it, knowing that he could have done something to prevent its loss?

I can’t. And I won’t, Anakin promised himself as he strode from Yoda’s chamber.

His mind was so focused on that promise that he barely noticed he had arrived at the mission briefing room until the meeting’s participants, filing out of the room, greeted him. Hurriedly Anakin pulled himself together and descended the short staircase to Obi-Wan, who was shutting down a series of holographics.

“You missed the report on the Outer Rim Sieges,” the latter greeted him.

“I was held up,” said Anakin honestly. “I have no excuse.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms. “In short, they are going very well. Saleucami has fallen, and Master Vos has moved his troops to Boz Pity.”

“What’s wrong, then?” Anakin asked.

The older man sighed, starting towards the door. “The Senate is expected to vote more executive powers to the Chancellor today.”

Anakin arched an eyebrow. “Well, that can only mean less deliberating and more action. Is that bad? It will make it easier for us to end this war.”

They walked on into the sunlit hallway, Obi-Wan stroking his beard softly. “Anakin, be careful of your friend Palpatine,” he said finally.

“Be careful of what?”

“He has requested your presence,” Obi-Wan explained.

This came as quite a surprise. Although Anakin shared what he thought of as a close friendship with the Chancellor, he was distinctly unused to being consulted on matters of government. “What for?”

“He would not say.”

“He didn’t inform the Jedi Council?” Anakin said incredulously. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“All of this is unusual, and it’s making me feel uneasy,” Obi-Wan sighed. “You’re probably aware that relations between the Council and the Chancellor are … strained.”

Anakin’s tone was cautious as he replied, “I know the Council has grown wary of the Chancellor’s power. Mine also, for that matter. Aren’t we all working together to save the Republic? I mean, why all this distrust?”

“The Force grows dark, Anakin, and we are all affected by it.” Obi-Wan paused to gaze out a sunny window. Across the tangle of buildings, Five Hundred Republica arched into the morning sky. “Be wary of your feelings.”

“You’re talking about my dream, aren’t you.”

“Perhaps,” admitted Obi-Wan. “I must confess I’m not entirely sure of its meaning —”

“What?” Anakin interrupted. “Its meaning? Padmé is going to die! That meaning seemed pretty clear to me!”

“Yes, but something about it just does not seem right to me,” Obi-Wan persisted. “In these times we are all subjected to the influences of the dark side. The mind can act in mysterious ways when presented with dark currents. My concern for you at this time is to keep your mind clear and submit to the will of the Force.”

“But … but … how can you even say that?” Anakin choked out. “You love Padmé! How can you just stand there and let her die?”

“Anakin, I know very well how frightening that dream must have been for you. It was frightening to be awoken in the middle of the night and be told you’d had it, never mind the actual experience. However, need I remind you that there is absolutely no evidence whatsoever that Padmé’s life is in danger? From what she has told me, the pregnancy has gone well. She’s very healthy, despite being quite ill early on. About the only difficulties she experiences are some minor back pain and, of course, a lot of fatigue. According to her medical droid everything is fine. So why is there any reason to suspect that she might die?”

Anakin balled his hands into fists, clenching and unclenching them. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know. I just know that whenever I have these dreams — people die. Or bad things happen.”

He suddenly felt very young.

Obi-Wan sighed, looking again towards 500 Republica. “I wish there was something I could say to help you. But I’m not sure if anything more than the basic facts will be a comfort.”

“Master, it’s — it’s all right,” Anakin said, hastily trying to pull himself together. “I just worry for her, that’s all. Padmé is one of my best friends.”

“She’s one of mine as well.” Both men were silent for several moments, lost in their separate thoughts. Then Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Well, we’d best be on our way. We’re going to be late.”

***

At that moment, Padmé herself was clearing off her small coffee table and arranging couch cushions in preparation for the medical droid’s arrival. Although she felt more comfortable on the large veranda that also served as a landing pad, she had requested that the droid, Obi-Wan and Anakin meet her in the enclosed part of her apartment for privacy reasons. The shades would be pulled and a security lock in place. Padmé still did not feel comfortable with the possibility of her pregnancy becoming public knowledge, even though she understood that it was likely inevitable once Obi-Wan announced his intention to leave the Jedi Order. But for now, what the gossipmongers did not know couldn’t hurt them.

Her comlink chimed, and Padmé felt her stomach clench instinctively. She had grown to hate that sound, because it so often heralded the news that Obi-Wan would be at the Temple longer than he’d anticipated. She would never have complained to him, however, as their relationship had also taught her that nothing was more important for Obi-Wan than his duty to the Jedi. It was one of the reasons she loved him.

Resigned, she activated her comlink and was surprised to see the thin blue form of Mon Mothma spring to life before her.

“Padmé, greetings,” Mon said, smiling warmly. “How have you been keeping?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Padmé replied. “And you? How’s Lily?”

“Energetic and happy. Thanks for your concern. Would you believe that her favourite things to eat now are green food rations?”

Padmé laughed. “Is that so? I guess she must have taken me more seriously than I thought.”

“She must,” Mon agreed. “I can’t say as it bothers me, though. She never was a fan of them before, and thanks to you it’s my belief she’s a lot healthier.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Padmé said. “But I’m sure you didn’t contact me to discuss Lily’s dietary habits. What’s going on?”

Mon’s face instantly became serious. “No, I didn’t. Padmé, I must ask you — are you able to speak privately at the moment? No security, no droids, no other personnel in proximity to you?”

Padmé glanced around, though she knew she was quite alone. Her handmaidens and security were all on the lower levels, and C-3PO had been sent to her landing pad to greet the Jedi when they arrived. “To my knowledge there’s no one else around. Why all the secrecy?”

She was used to speaking of sensitive affairs, but all of her staff had signed confidentiality agreements and had never betrayed her. So she was puzzled as to why Mon might insist on solitude.

Next moment, Padmé had her answer. “What I wish to talk with you about is … well, of an extremely sensitive nature,” Mon explained. “Even beyond what priority security clearance would cover. I want to be absolutely sure we will not be overheard.”

“Understood,” replied Padmé. “You have my assurances.”

“Thank you.” Mon paused, as though gathering her thoughts. “During the war, it has come to my attention, as I’m sure it has to yours, that Chancellor Palpatine has been passing a number of — let’s call them unusual — bills of late. Have you seen the docket for tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Padmé said. “In point of fact that’s exactly what I was working on this morning. I had to leave the Senate early for personal reasons, but I’ve already submitted my objections to three of the major bills that will be discussed.”

“As have I. But … a small group of Senators and I have recently been considering the possibility that simple objections may not be enough,” Mon said gently. “They are made, noted, and then passed over completely. No one — least of all Palpatine, who claims to be so committed to democracy — appears to be able to do anything to counter this trend. So it is time to do something.”

Padmé bit her lip. “I’m not sure I follow. What can be done?”

“I need your help, Padmé,” Mon said in such an honest, open tone that her friend was shocked. “I am a leading member of a coalition that is looking into … alternate solutions … to political negotiations.”

“Alternate solutions?” Padmé repeated. “Surely you don’t mean violent solutions?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that,” insisted Mon, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace. “Petitions, formal complaints, methods of that sort. Motions that cannot be overlooked. Our primary objective is peace, I promise you that.”

“So what are you requesting of me?” Padmé asked.

“Just that you come to a meeting tomorrow,” Mon replied. “In Bail Organa’s office. Bail will be there, and Fang Zar, and others. They form the bedrock of our coalition. So will you, if you agree to join with us. The meeting is to discuss the methods which we feel would be most effective, as well as what we wish to achieve. You needn’t commit to anything, not at this moment.”

Padmé nodded. “I understand. I will be there.”

She barely had time to wonder at the agreement before C-3PO tottered into the room. “Mistress Padmé,” he exclaimed, “might I present two most honoured guests? Master Kenobi and Master Anakin have arrived!”

“Thank you, Threepio. Tell them to come up. Mon?” Padmé said into the comlink. “I have business to attend to at the moment, but I’ll be there tomorrow in Bail’s office. I promise you that.”

“Thank you, Padmé. See you then.” And the small form of her friend vanished.

Clicking off her comlink, Padmé pondered what she had just been told. Clearly, there were others who had begun to ask the same questions as she about the Chancellor’s supposed “democracy,” and she knew it was usually better for small groups to be united politically as opposed to a lone voice calling uselessly in the wind. Yet Padmé was equally puzzled about what precisely could be achieved. She had tried to voice her objections. She had tried to vote against the anti-democratic motions in hopes that her efforts might be noticed and discussed. Neither approach had worked. Perhaps a petition signed by a large number of Senators might carry more weight, but with Palpatine’s Senatorial supermajority, it might be difficult or impossible to put together a big enough group to have an impact. And while the idea of the petition was better than anything they had come up with so far, it also presupposed that Mon and her coalition could in fact convince enough Senators to add their names. There was not only the problem of the supermajority but also that those who openly opposed Palpatine tended to vanish suddenly and without explanation. Fear could be a powerful deterrent.

She was so lost in these thoughts that she barely heard Threepio totter back up the staircase, or the quiet murmurs of Anakin and Obi-Wan as they ascended with him. It took another reminder from the golden droid that their “honoured visitors” had arrived for Padmé to look up.

When she did, the sight that met her eyes made her smile widely. They stood in the doorway, her two best friends in the galaxy, grinning and laughing and joking. How she had missed them! There was no doubt in her mind that their time at the front had changed them. But they were Jedi, and so they did not show it.

“Darling,” Obi-Wan smiled, and held out his arms. A moment later Padmé was enveloped in them, kissing him softly and guiding one of his hands to her belly to feel the children kick. Cognizant of Anakin, however, she soon let go.

“Ani,” Padmé said, and hugged him too (though the gesture was one of friendship only). “Thank you so much for coming. This wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Me, miss out on a chance to start teaching my Master’s kids to be troublemakers? Not a chance,” Anakin grinned.

“Oh, no, we’ll have none of that,” said Obi-Wan as they made their way to the couch. “My children are going to be the best-behaved younglings in the galaxy. Count on it.”

“With a father like you I don’t doubt it,” Anakin returned. “That’s why it’s my job to show them how to make trouble.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “You’re such a bad influence. Trying to pollute young minds before they’re even born.”

Anakin snickered. “Well like I said, they’re not going to get any of that from you if I leave them in your hands. They’ve gotta have at least one mentor in the art of troublemaking, and unless Padmé has something up her sleeve …”

“I assure you, I don’t,” Padmé told him, lowering herself onto the couch and leaning back against it. “I’ll have my hands full just taking care of them. Never mind teaching them to be troublemakers. I think that should be your department, Ani.”

“See?” Anakin turned to Obi-Wan. “Even Padmé agrees. These kids need a bad influence. I am a bad influence. It’s a Force-made match.”

Padmé’s eyelids drooped, but she was smiling. “You’ve been outvoted, darling.”

“I guess I have,” Obi-Wan chuckled.

“Pardon me,” came a voice from behind them, and they turned to see Padmé’s medical droid entering the room. “Senator Amidala, I am here for your holoimaging session.”

“Yes, M6-D8.” Padmé stood. “Two additional people will be observing the session today, if that’s all right. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, my partner and the father of the children, and Anakin Skywalker, a very dear friend.”

“Of course,” the droid said mechanically. “May I begin setup?”

“Please.”

Padmé lay back on the couch while the droid took out the imaging equipment and scanners it would need. Anakin and Obi-Wan hovered nearby, unsure of what their role should be.

“Are you feeling all right? Can I get you anything?” Obi-Wan asked, anxiously smoothing Padmé’s hair back from her cheeks.

Padmé chuckled. “I’m all right, darling, really! Just tired. You would be too if you had to lug around an extra twenty-five pounds on a daily basis.”

“Fatigue is an extremely common symptom, occurring in ninety-five point seven percent of all human pregnancies,” the medical droid put in.

“What about death in childbirth?” Anakin asked quietly.

All heads, mechanical and otherwise, turned to him.

“I mean … Padmé told me it’s really rare, and I believe her, but — some people probably still die, right?” he continued awkwardly.

“With respect, sir, the death of a human female in childbirth has not been recorded for some years now on Core Worlds,” M6-D8 replied. “Medical technology has advanced to the point where we are able to predict nearly all possible complications, and work to alleviate them before the offspring is ready to arrive.”

“Nearly all possible complications?” Anakin repeated. “Does that mean that there are some you don’t catch?”

“No, the discrepancy is there to account for the measurable mortality rates on Outer Rim worlds such as Tatooine,” explained the droid. “When an expectant mother is seen regularly by competent medical technicians such as myself, the risk is so unremarkable as to be unworthy of consideration.”

“You see, Ani?” Padmé smiled. “I didn’t tell you those same things last night just to make you feel better. It’s the truth.”

“What about Senator Amidala?” pressed Anakin. “Does she have any risk factors?”

“I am unsure of the purpose of this line of questioning,” said M6-D8 as it spread a transparent oil on Padmé’s exposed belly. “I have already indicated to you that the risk factors in general for a being in Senator Amidala’s condition are negligible. I would think that the level of reassurance provided would be more than sufficient —”

“Anakin has been having nightmares,” Obi-Wan interrupted. “Bad dreams, about Senator Amidala’s death in childbirth. He cares for her very much and I’m sure he is only trying to express his concern for a friend’s well-being.”

Anakin shot his Master a grateful smile.

“Then allow me to assure you that she is completely healthy.” The droid pressed several buttons on a scanner. “Ordinarily, the presence of twins might be a significant risk factor, but the Senator is in good health and has been taking excellent care of herself. The remainder of her gestation and the delivery should be quite uncomplicated. Now, if you will direct your attention to the screen on the table, you ought to be able to see the children. Please alert me if the screen resolution requires adjustment.”

That stopped the discussion in its tracks. Padmé, Obi-Wan and Anakin squinted at the screen, at first unable to see anything but blurry darkness. Then, a sudden flurry of movement made them gasp.

“Look!” Anakin whispered. “Look, is that his foot?”

A tiny appendage was waving furiously backwards and forwards. Then the camera swung to the left, and it was revealed to be an arm in front of an infant’s face. The baby batted at something beyond the observers’ field of vision, and then stuffed a tiny thumb into its mouth.

“Can you feel that?” Obi-Wan asked in a hushed tone.

“Some of it,” Padmé replied. “I can feel their kicks and punches. And sometimes they get the hiccups.”

Anakin laughed. “Really? Padmé, that’s … that’s amazing.”

“Not when you’re trying to fall asleep after what seems like your five thousandth trip to the refresher.” Padmé softened as she gazed at the children kicking and squirming on the screen. “But you’re right. It is … absolutely amazing.”

“May I …?” Anakin asked hesitantly, moving towards the couch. At a nod from Padmé, he slid his hand gently over her belly to the spot where a baby’s foot kicked insistently. “Wow. Do you know yet whether they’re boys or girls?”

“Not, not yet,” Padmé said. “I’ve forbidden Emsix to tell me. The element of surprise is … well, it’s fun, I guess. Although I suspect Obi-Wan knows. But I’ve sworn him to secrecy.”

“How would he know? Does he have holoscanner vision and just never bothered to tell me? It sure would’ve come in handy on a few of those missions, Master.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “No, Anakin, I’m afraid not. There have been several times where I’ve been able to establish a Force connection with the babies, and I’ve learned certain things. Such as several distinct differences —”

“Don’t you dare, Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Padmé exclaimed. “If you want to tell him, you both can go into the next room. I don’t want to know.”

“Darling, that’s not what I was going to say.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly. “Just that I’ve detected certain differences which lead me to believe I may know their genders. That’s all. I’m not going to tell you if you don’t wish me to.”

“Good,” she smiled.

Anakin was looking puzzled. “A Force connection? What do you mean?”

“It’s a trick Qui-Gon taught me,” explained Obi-Wan. “It’s essentially very similar to making oneself part of the Living Force, which, of course, Jedi are encouraged to do on a regular basis. But rather than uniting with the entire Force, you simply enter one very small part of it. I can reach into the Force and sense the children, almost become part of them, if I wish.” He softened, stroking Padmé’s cheek lightly. “It’s truly an amazing experience.”

“I’ll bet it is,” Anakin said. “I’ll have to try it sometime.”

“Excuse me? Sirs, madam?” Emsix spoke up. “Senator Amidala, I have taken all the necessary measurements and performed the required tests. The babies appear healthy and strong and are gaining weight at the required rate. Unless there are additional tests you would like to request, I will leave you with the latest holoimage and expect to see you once again in approximately seven sunups. Understood?”

“Yes, thank you,” replied Padmé, straightening her dress and sitting up. “Thank you. Ani, do you have any other questions?”

The Knight suddenly looked a little uncomfortable. “No — no, it’s okay. Really. Thanks, Emsix.”

“Of course,” said the droid. It began to pack up its equipment.

“Anakin, are you sure you’re okay?” Padmé’s gaze drifted to his hand, which seemed to have grown suddenly tense against her stomach. But suddenly she was sure she had imagined it, for he was caressing it gently, following the kicks of the children.

And a moment later, the concerns had fled her mind. Obi-Wan was clasping her hand, kissing her fingers. Anakin was gazing at the babies’ holoimage and trying to decide which child looked like Obi-Wan and which like Padmé.

Padmé herself was perfectly contented, her two most favourite people next to her. She could think of nowhere else she would rather have been.

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
Hello, little ones. I’m writing to you in bed, with your father next to me, and the apartment long quiet. The busy cityscape of Coruscant marches on outside my window, as always. It astonishes me how many beings are awake and going about their business at this late hour. Then again, some do not require sleep, so I suppose I’m speaking from my own narrow perspective on that point. The blinds are closed and I’m feeling, for once in my life, like things might actually be going right for a change.

The holoimaging session was a huge success. I don’t know if it was some trick of the Force, or if you two are perhaps more aware than I give you credit for, but you were both positioned perfectly. I have never seen Obi-Wan and Anakin more in awe. I know firsthand what a miracle this is, but having had a few months to get used to the miracle has jaded me somewhat. The open-eyed wonder on their faces was really quite a thing to witness. It reminded me how anxious I am for you both to get here, how much I love Obi-Wan, and how worth it every bit of nausea and dizziness and all the other symptoms have been.

I must confess, however, that I’m still concerned about Anakin. I’ve always had a fairly good intuition when it comes to interpreting people’s thoughts and feelings. Obi-Wan would probably attribute this to my latent Force sensitivity, but I prefer not to think of it that way. I just … I don’t know if I can really explain this adequately. It’s almost like Anakin is still afraid, but doesn’t want to reveal his fear because he wishes to appear strong. Possibly he is also concerned about worrying Obi-Wan and I. If I had a choice in the matter I would ask him just to talk to us about his fears. I’m not sure if he would, though.

Tomorrow I have that mysterious meeting with Bail Organa and Mon Mothma. I won’t say much more about it here in case this personal record is somehow intercepted by the wrong eyes. But I will admit to being very curious about what they have in mind. I understand their concerns, though I’m not sure what they hope to accomplish. In these turbulent times we are all judged by the company we keep and by our actions with that company. I wish it were not so, but it is.

Seeing you today, my darlings, reminded me of just how far I am willing to go to achieve peace. I would be foolish not to admit that. It is amazing, but not really surprising, the lengths to which beings will go when they realize that the affairs of the galaxy might negatively affect their offspring. That is certainly the position in which I now find myself. I could never condone violence, and I still cannot condone the tactics of the Separatists. But now I want so desperately for this war to end so that your father and I can raise you in a safe place. And if the only way to do that is to begin the pursuit of alternate means, so be it.

Perhaps that, in the end, is why wars are fought.

Everyone just wants to be safe.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

The Solution

PERSONAL RECORD: OBI-WAN KENOBI  
It was my fondest wish that I never live to see this day.

The day that government, in pursuit of supposedly lofty ideals, would begin interfering in the affairs of the Jedi Order.

Of course, this process began much earlier. As so often occurs when a society relinquishes democracy, there were many warning signs which foreshadowed the event. Relations between the Chancellor’s office and the Council were already strained, and I doubt this latest occurrence will do much to ease them. I only wonder if there is something I could have done, some foresight I could have exercised in a preventative manner.

Little did I know that when Anakin left Padmé’s apartment after the holoimaging session, he was on his way to Palpatine’s office. He had been called there at the behest of the Chancellor this morning, but had indicated that he couldn’t make it until the afternoon. When they did eventually meet, I am told that Palpatine offered Anakin a position on the Jedi Council. Anakin, being sensible enough to recall the rule of law, reminded the Chancellor that the Council appoints its own members. Which indeed it does. This safeguard has been in place for many centuries to prevent the Order falling prey to the whims of galactic government.

What happened next has no precedent in all of Republic policy. I know. I looked it up.

The Senate summarily passed a motion which included, among its many precepts, the placing of the Jedi Council and the Order at large under direct control of the Chancellor’s office! Well, I say the Senate passed the motion, but it would be more accurate to say that Palpatine wrote it himself and pressed it on one of his lackeys. The worst thing is, the Council can do nothing to overturn this motion. We are under the control of Palpatine, whether we like it or not.

Anakin is to be a member of the Council.

I still cannot believe it, but this was the Chancellor’s next “request.” Anakin is to be put on the Council as Palpatine’s personal representative. Once more, this is an order we cannot refuse.

He is not ready for this, I know he is not and I fear for what it will do to him. We have made an executive decision not to grant him the rank of Master – thank the Force we still have that small bit of autonomy – and I know he will protest. He will be angry. But not nearly as angry as when he hears of the other task we will set him.

I am not in favour of this task. I haven’t been, from the start. I’m afraid that with all the other pressures the Jedi have placed upon Anakin, this will be the one that causes him to crack.

Perhaps I’m just worrying too much. I do have a tendency to do so, after all; Qui-Gon always complained about it. But I feel as though matters are beginning to accelerate in order to reach their final conclusions. As though something unavoidably dark is about to be unleashed, has perhaps been unleashed already.

And the future does not hold promise. Only fear.

Obi-Wan sat stiffly in his Council chair. Today, at this moment, he had a fervent desire to be somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

He knew precisely what would be happening. At this moment, Mace Windu would be exiting the Council chambers. He would find Anakin waiting outside the door, as the latter had been directed to do. Master Windu would tell Anakin that the time had come to meet with the Council. And then … Obi-Wan did not like to think about what might happen after that. He understood why his former Padawan would be upset, and suddenly wished he had made a stronger case against what the Council planned to tell the young Jedi.

He is my best friend. He will think I’ve betrayed him.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard as Anakin entered. The older man could not, and did not, betray any of the emotions roiling inside him. And he knew that Anakin would not exercise that same restraint.

Mace Windu took his seat, lacing his fingers together. “Anakin Skywalker, we have approved your appointment to the Council as the Chancellor’s personal representative,” he began.

The corners of Anakin’s mouth lifted in the faintest hint of a smile. “I will do my best to uphold the principles of the Jedi Order.”

“Allow this appointment lightly, the Council does not,” Yoda interjected, fixing unusually sharp eyes upon the young Knight. “Disturbing is this move by Chancellor Palpatine. On many levels.”

“I understand,” Anakin nodded.

“I’m not sure you do,” Mace countered. He paused, and inwardly Obi-Wan sighed. Here it comes. “You will attend the meetings of this Council, but you will not be granted the rank and privileges of a Jedi Master.”

An unusual darkness descended over Anakin – rather, Obi-Wan thought, like the darkness that might occur if one pulled a curtain over a window. The Knight’s face clouded, and he took an involuntary step backward as though he had been slapped. His mouth moved soundlessly, desperately, almost as though he was experiencing some secret panic. Obi-Wan was about to intervene when his friend squeezed out, “What?”

The word was laced with venom.

“How dare you? How dare you?” Anakin’s voice was rising in pitch, his fists clenching, his jaw working. And yet this was far more than an ordinary temper tantrum. Obi-Wan had been witness to many of those, and this one was distinctly different. “No Jedi in this room can match my power – no Jedi in the galaxy! You think you can deny Mastery to me?”

“The Chancellor’s representative you are,” Yoda replied, and his tone was sharp. “And it is as his representative you shall attend the Council. Sit in this chamber you will, but no vote will you have. The Chancellor’s views you shall present. His wishes. His ideas and directives. Not your own.”

“This is an insult to me, and to the Chancellor,” Anakin returned coldly. “Do not imagine that it will be tolerated.”

“Take your seat, young Skywalker,” Mace snapped.

Anakin didn’t move. He continued to stare, as though by facing down the Council he might persuade them to give him what he wanted.

There is something else behind this, Obi-Wan thought suddenly. I sense disappointment and resentment over his not being appointed to Mastery, but … he is hiding something. He did not want to be a Master only for personal glory.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan tried to make his voice as gentle as possible as he gestured to the empty seat beside him. “Please.”

This seemed to placate the young man as nothing else. Anakin bowed low, a flush of embarrassment already creeping up his cheeks. “Forgive me, Masters,” he said contritely.

A moment of silence passed before Ki-Adi-Mundi cleared his throat. “We have surveyed all systems in the Republic, and have found no sign of General Grievous.”

“Hiding in the Outer Rim, Grievous is,” said Yoda. “The outlying systems, you must sweep.”

Obi-Wan jerked his attention away from Anakin and back to the discussion. “It may take some time. We do not have many ships to spare.”

Mace was already shaking his head. “We cannot take ships from the front line.”

“And yet, it would be a fatal for us to allow the droid armies to regroup,” Obi-Wan reminded him.

“Master Kenobi, our spies contact, you must, and then wait,” Yoda said. “Only through information will we solve this dilemma.”

“What about the droid attack on the Wookiees?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked nervously. “They are days away from being overrun!”

“It is critical we send an attack group there immediately,” Mace agreed.

Obi-Wan threw the briefest of glances towards Anakin, who had been silent throughout the entire exchange. Perhaps the lesson in humility finally sunk in. Out loud he said, “Master Windu is right. That is a system we cannot afford to lose – it’s the main navigation route for the southwest quadrant.”

“I can handle it,” Anakin blurted suddenly. All eyes turned to him. “I know that system well, I could clear the planet in a day or two –”

“Skywalker, your assignment is here,” Mace interrupted. His icy glare indicated that there was to be no further discussion.

Anakin slumped in his seat, gazing out the window. Obi-Wan sighed.

“Go, I will,” Yoda said quietly. “Good relations with the Wookiees, I have.”

“It’s settled then,” Mace said with finality. “Yoda will take a battalion of clones to reinforce the Wookiees on Kashyyyk. May the Force be with us all.”

Obi-Wan looked towards his friend again, but Anakin was still looking away. His face had become closed, seeming to indicate that he had abandoned the discussion, tuned out and could not be reached for comment.

The Master sighed again. They would talk later. They had to.

***

Obi-Wan did not have long to wait. His mind was a jumble of thoughts as he left the Council chambers, pondering if this was the moment to confide in Mace and Yoda about Padmé’s pregnancy, mentally envisioning his schedule for the afternoon – did he have time to perhaps run over to Five Hundred Republica before his next strategy meeting? – but most of all, thinking about his best friend.

Why had Anakin reacted in such a manner? Obi-Wan had been expecting fireworks, yes; he had been certain that his friend would be displeased; and his conscience berated him for the role that he played in the affair. What Obi-Wan had not expected was the naked fear on Anakin’s face as he was told of his new position. The sense that he had failed … someone. But who? His Master? The Jedi? Anakin’s own expectations for himself?

Obi-Wan wished he could have found out more, but he was reluctant to probe so deeply into his friend’s thoughts without Anakin’s permission. And even if he had been able to probe further, he was doubtful of his abilities to penetrate Anakin’s mental shields. He’d had the experience before, when the Knight was younger, of trying to pry a secret out of him. Anakin might not have been adept at concealing his emotions, but the same could not be said for any secrets he had. Typically the only way for the Master to learn his Padawan’s thoughts was if Anakin told him.

Obi-Wan was so lost in these thoughts that he did not notice his friend accosting him in the hallway until Anakin actually spoke.

“What kind of nonsense is this, put me on the Council and not make me a Master?” he complained, as though continuing a conversation they had already been having. “That’s never been done in the history of the Jedi, it’s insulting!”

He is camouflaging his true emotions, thought Obi-Wan with a sigh. “Calm down, Anakin; you have been given a great honour. To be on the Council at your age – well, it’s never happened before. Listen to me. The fact of the matter is, you are too close to the Chancellor. The Council doesn’t like it when he interferes in Jedi affairs.”

“I swear to you, I didn’t ask to be put on the Council!” Anakin exclaimed.

“But it’s what you wanted,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Your friendship with Chancellor Palpatine seems to have paid off.”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“Anakin, regardless of how it happened, you find yourself in a delicate situation,” cautioned Obi-Wan.

“You mean divided loyalties?” the Knight asked.

“I warned you there was tension between the Council and the Chancellor.” Obi-Wan ran a tired hand over his beard. As with so many things concerning his friend, Anakin rarely listened when it would have been in his best interest to do so. “I was very clear. Why didn’t you pay attention? You walked right into it.”

“The Council is obviously upset I’m the youngest ever to serve,” Anakin said hotly.

“No, it is not,” Obi-Wan answered fervently. “Anakin, I worry when you speak of jealousy and pride. Those are not Jedi thoughts. They are dangerous, dark thoughts.”

“Master, you of all people should have confidence in my abilities. I know where my loyalties lie,” Anakin insisted.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, peering out the window at nothing. “I hope so.”

There was a pause.

“I sense there’s more to this talk than you’re saying,” Anakin said cautiously.

I suppose I can only put this off for so long, thought Obi-Wan. Stars, it will not be pleasant. Why did the Council have to select me for this particular task?

Logically, he understood the exact reason: Anakin trusted him, even more so than he had a few years ago, and though the news that needed to be imparted was unlikely to be welcome no matter who did the imparting, the Jedi Council had surmised that the young Knight might stand a better chance of accepting it if it was delivered by a close friend. Namely, Anakin’s closest friend in the Order. Namely, Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan sighed, and decided to drop a large hint. “Anakin, the only reason the Council has approved your appointment is because the Chancellor trusts you.”

“And?”

“Anakin, look, I am on your side. I didn’t want to see you put in this situation. In fact, I advised the Jedi Council against it in a rather … adamant fashion.”

“What situation? What do you mean?” Anakin asked.

“The Council wants you to report on all of the Chancellor’s dealings,” Obi-Wan told him. “They want to know what he’s up to.”

“They want me to spy on the Chancellor?” said Anakin incredulously. “That’s treason!”

“We are at war, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied. “The Jedi Council is sworn to uphold the principles of the Republic, even if the Chancellor does not.”

Anakin now gazed out the window as well, looking toward the industrial sector, towards the hydroponic gardens, towards Five Hundred Republica, anywhere but at Obi-Wan. The latter could sense a powerful feeling of revulsion. “Why didn’t the Council give me this assignment when we were in session?” the Knight finally said.

The best thing – the only thing – I can offer him right now is the truth. “This assignment is not to be on the record,” Obi-Wan said grimly. “The Council asked me to approach you on this personally.”

“The Chancellor is not a bad man, Obi-Wan!” Anakin insisted. “He befriended me. He’s watched out for me ever since I arrived here.”

“That is why you must help us, Anakin.” Obi-Wan ran a hand nervously through his hair. “Our allegiance is to the Senate, not to its leader who has managed to stay in office long after his term has expired.”

“Master, the Senate demanded that he stay longer! What was he supposed to do, refuse?”

“But use your feelings, Anakin, something is out of place –”

“You’re asking me to do something against the Jedi Code,” Anakin interrupted. “Against the Republic, against a mentor … and a friend. That’s what’s out of place here. Why are you asking this of me?”

Obi-Wan turned away. Suddenly he could not bear to look his best friend in the eye. “The Council is asking you,” he answered stiffly.

He wanted to say more, wanted to ask Anakin about his mysterious reaction to being denied Mastery and whether he was still having nightmares about Padmé. But as soon as he turned his back, he sensed Anakin striding away. Obi-Wan did not call him back.

He doubted Anakin would have listened if he had.

***

Bail Organa’s office was as neat and tidy as ever. That was the first thing she noticed.

Padmé and Mon had always teased him about it, of course. They’d mocked him for not having dozens of flimsiplasts and tottering piles of datapads on his desk like they did. They had implied that perhaps his true obsession was cleaning, rather than the affairs of the Republic. Bail took all of this very well, and teased them just as mercilessly about their own quirks. Padmé always had a bottle of water on her desk, since her pregnancy made her extremely thirsty. Both Bail and Mon had picked up on this and had begun calling her Colo Claw, after a certain kind of water-dependent creature on Naboo. And all three of them had had a hearty laugh when Mon accidentally brought one of Lily’s toys to the Senate in her handbag.

But now, the cleanliness of Bail’s office was one of the few aspects of normalcy upon which Padmé could fix her attention. Everything else seemed scary and changeable.

Her eyes fell on the flimsiplast detailing the parameters of the Sector Governance Decree. It was sitting in the centre of Bail’s desk. “I am no happier than the rest of you about this,” she insisted. “But I’ve known Palpatine for years. He was my most trusted adviser. I’m not prepared to believe his intent is to dismantle the Senate.”

“Why should he bother?” Mon muttered. “As a practical matter – as of this morning – the Senate no longer exists.”

“Palpatine no longer has to worry about controlling the Senate,” added Bail. “By placing his own lackeys as governors over every planet in the Republic, he controls our systems directly. He has become a dictator. We made him a dictator.”

No, I made him a dictator. That fact made Padmé recoil, but it was the simple truth. After all, it had been she who moved for the vote of no confidence as Queen in the hopes that it would help Naboo during the blockade. This vote had ushered Chancellor Valorum out of office, and paved the way for Palpatine to take control. I suppose in reality I had no other options, she reflected bitterly. How could I have known what Palpatine was to become? He fooled us all. And now he has so much power, I’m not sure if anyone can wrest it away.

“But what can we do about it?” Terr Taneel spoke up nervously.

My sentiments exactly, Padmé thought.

“That’s what we’ve asked you here to discuss,” said Mon. “What we’re going to do about it.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Fang Zar replied.

“None of us likes where anything is going,” Bail countered. “That’s exactly the point. We can’t let a thousand years of democracy disappear without a fight!” He banged his fist on his desk for emphasis.

“A fight?” exclaimed Padmé. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing – Bail, you sound like a Separatist!”

Bail sighed, running a tired hand over his face and lacing his fingers together. “I apologize. That was not my intent. Senator Mothma and I asked you here because of all the Senators in the galaxy, you four have been the most consistent – and influential – voices of reason and restraint, doing all you could to preserve our poor, tattered Constitution. We don’t want to hurt the Republic. With your help, we hope to save it.”

“It has become increasingly clear that Palpatine is turning into an enemy of democracy,” Mon interjected. “He must be stopped.”

“The Senate gave him these powers,” Padmé reminded her. “The Senate can rein him in.”

“I fear you underestimate just how deeply the Senate’s corruption has taken hold,” Giddean Danu replied grimly. “Who is even left untainted? Who will vote against Palpatine now?”

“I will,” Padmé told him. “And I’ll find others, too.” A part of her wondered how her activities might potentially affect Anakin, since Palpatine had always been one of his closest friends. But she also knew she could not let her close relationship with Anakin affect how she did her job. What kind of a Senator would she be if she allowed that to happen? This was an opportunity to recover some of the Republic’s lost democracy. It would not go to waste.

“You do that,” replied Bail approvingly. “Make as much noise as you can – keep Palpatine watching what you’re doing in the Senate. That should provide some cover while Mon Mothma and I begin building our organization –”

“Stop,” Padmé interrupted. She was becoming nervous about where this might be going. “It’s better to leave some things unsaid. If any of us are interrogated by the Chancellor’s officials, we will be able to rightly say that we knew nothing of your plans. That’s how it should stay at the moment.”

Mon nodded. “That sounds very wise. Other matters can be left for other times. Until then, this meeting must remain absolutely secret. Even hinting at an effective opposition to Palpatine can be, as we’ve all seen, very dangerous. We must agree never to speak of these matters except among the people who are now in this room. We must bring no one into this secret without the agreement of each and every one of us.”

“That includes even those closest to you,” Bail added. “Even your families – to share anything of this will expose them to the same danger we all face. No one can be told. No one.”

“I’m in a relationship right now, Bail,” countered Padmé, trying to prompt him with her eyes. Wanting him to remember Obi-Wan. “I do not keep secrets from my partner, and he does not keep any from me. This is a breach of trust I’m not sure I can allow.”

Beneath her ribs a baby stirred, further underscoring the conviction of her statements.

“Are you willing to put your partner in the potential line of fire for the sake of this trust?” Taneel asked. “That is what it amounts to, Senator Amidala. He may find himself in serious danger if you tell him. Can he cope with that?”

Padmé almost laughed. He’s a Jedi! she wanted to shout. Any dangers you perceive are nothing compared to what he has faced already! But she didn’t say so. “I will not tell him as a matter of course, but neither will I lie to him. I should think the precautions we discussed earlier ought to be more than adequate to protect us and those we love. The information which is most sensitive will not be known to all members of the group. Therefore, they cannot reasonably be expected to divulge it to their families.”

“You make some excellent points.” Bail inclined his head in respect. “Very well. No one will be required to keep a secret if they feel it would violate the trust their families have placed in them. However, the expectation is that everyone in this room will exercise good judgment. In these difficult times, we are all examined through the lens of the company we keep.”

Padmé nodded. She remembered writing words to that effect in her personal record mere days earlier.

Unwillingly, a sudden thought pushed its way into her mind as the group stood to leave. What about Anakin? Could she trust him with this sensitive information? Would he even ask her about her dealings in the Senate? What could she say if he did?

He’s Palpatine’s friend, Padmé reminded herself. There’s a distinct possibility that anything I say could make it back to the Chancellor through Anakin, even if he isn’t complicit. But still, Anakin had always placed a lot of trust in her – trust equaling, if not exceeding, that of Obi-Wan. How ethical was it to hide information from a close friend, even if that information could hurt him?

Then again, I haven’t exactly been honest with him about my engagement to Obi-Wan, she thought.

And there was a darker question: Will one more secret really do that much harm?

***

The orbital mirrors were just rotating to their evening setting, painting the Coruscanti sky in a riot of oranges and yellows, when a small speeder pulled up to the landing pad outside Padmé’s apartment.

“M’lady,” whispered Captain Typho to the figure in the front seat. “We’ve arrived. Do you require assistance in exiting the vehicle?”

Padmé slowly opened her eyes, stretching and yawning. Ordinarily she would not have been caught dead engaging in such undignified behaviour, but on this particular night she couldn’t help it. She didn’t remember ever being so tired, or so sore, or so eager to enter her apartment and simply collapse on the couch. Rarely had she felt the effects of her pregnancy as keenly as tonight.

“Yes, thank you,” Padmé told Typho.

She accepted his proffered hand and stepped lightly onto her balcony, propping one hand behind her back to try and ease the soreness.

“Will you be requiring anything, Senator?” Typho asked. “I can send Eirtaé or Yané up.”

“No. Tell them that they are dismissed for the night. I only need sleep.”

“Very well. I will be downstairs with the rest of the security team. Rest well, my lady.” Typho reactivated the security field, climbed back into the speeder and was gone.

Once more Padmé yawned widely as she settled herself on one of the plain couches lining her veranda. She clasped her hands over her stomach, massaging gently – the babies were kicking furiously. I had that much energy, once, she thought ruefully, her eyes drooping shut.

“Padmé?”

She nearly jumped through the ceiling. Her eyes flew open to see Anakin approaching from a corner of the veranda.

“Ani!” she exclaimed. “Goddesses, you frightened me. What are you doing here?”

He shrugged and said evasively, “Nothing. I just … wanted to come and see you, I guess. I’ve got a meeting with the Chancellor tonight, so I can’t stay long.”

“That’s all right.” Padmé patted the seat next to her as an invitation to sit down. “You know my door is always open to you.”

“Yeah,” Anakin said, dropping onto the couch. He seemed preoccupied with something. “Listen, I’m supposed to let you know that Obi-Wan will be a bit late tonight. They have to review some intelligence reports. He told me to tell you not to wait up for him.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, Ani,” Padmé said, quelling a small burst of disappointment. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” His eyes found her belly. “How are you feeling?”

In answer she took his hand of flesh and pressed it to the spot where the children were most active, a wide smile lighting her face. “He keeps kicking.”

“He?” asked Anakin. “I thought you asked Emsix not to spoil the surprise. And Obi-Wan, for that matter.”

“Oh, I didn’t get this from the medical droid,” Padmé chuckled. “It’s my … motherly intuition.”

The kicks intensified, enough for Anakin to feel the outline of the baby’s tiny foot as it beat against its cage. “Whoa! With a kick that strong, one of them has to be a girl.”

Padmé winked. “Or maybe both.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t count out intuition so quickly. It can be useful.” He sighed, removing his hand and looking towards the Coruscanti skyline. “For some things, anyway.”

She sensed that a change of subject was in order. “Anakin, I heard about your appointment to the Council. I’m so proud of you!”

To her surprise, a frown came instantly to Anakin’s face. “There’s nothing to be proud of,” the Knight muttered. “This is just political maneuvering between the Council and the Chancellor. I got caught in the middle, that’s all.”

“But to be on the Council, at your age –” Padmé began.

“They put me on the Council because they had to,” Anakin said brusquely. “Because he told them to, once the Senate gave him control of the Jedi. And because they think they can use me against him.”

“Against him,” echoed Padmé. She was remembering the afternoon’s meeting, how the Jedi had not been so much as mentioned, because nobody in the room was sure precisely where they stood. Obi-Wan rarely spoke to her of Jedi affairs, and she wouldn’t have asked even if she’d sensed a willingness on his part to volunteer the information. “The Jedi don’t trust Palpatine?”

Anakin snorted. “That doesn’t mean much. They don’t trust me, either. They’ll give me a chair in the Council Chamber, but that’s as far as it will go. They won’t accept me as a Master.”

She clasped his hand, squeezing gently. “Patience, Ani. In time, they will recognize your abilities.”

“They already recognize my abilities. They fear my abilities. But this isn’t even about that. Like I said, it’s a political game.”

“Anakin –”

“I don’t know what’s happening to the Order, but whatever it is, I don’t like it,” Anakin barreled on. “This war is destroying everything the Republic is supposed to stand for. I mean, what are we fighting for, anyway? What about all this is worth saving?”

Love, Padmé thought. And justice. And a future for our children. But she didn’t mention any of those things. “Have you ever considered that we may be on the wrong side?”

“The wrong side? You can’t mean that,” Anakin said.

“What if the democracy we thought we were serving no longer exists, and the Republic has become the very evil we’ve been fighting to destroy?” Padmé asked.

“Oh, this again,” grumbled Anakin. “I’ve been hearing that garbage ever since Geonosis. I just never thought I’d hear it from you.”

“A few seconds ago you were saying almost the same thing!” Padmé countered.

“But where would the Republic be without Palpatine?”

Not in this predicament. And I certainly wouldn’t be meeting secretly with groups of other Senators, discussing how our Chancellor has become a dictator. Out loud she replied, “I don’t know. But I’m not sure it would be worse than where we are.”

Anakin clenched and relaxed his fists as though in anger. “Everybody complains about Palpatine having too much power, but nobody offers a better alternative. Who should be running the war? The Senate? You’re in the Senate, you know those people – how many of them do you trust?”

“All I know is that things are going wrong here,” insisted Padmé. “Our government is headed in exactly the wrong direction. You know it too – you just said so!”

“I didn’t mean that,” he replied. “I just – I’m tired of this, that’s all. This political garbage. Sometimes I’d rather just be back out on the front lines. At least out there, I know who the bad guys are.”

It was Padmé’s turn to snort bitterly. “I’m becoming afraid that I might know who the bad guys are here, too.”

“You’re starting to sound like a Separatist,” Anakin accused.

“Anakin, the whole galaxy knows now that Count Dooku is dead,” Padmé said. “This is the time we should be pursuing a diplomatic resolution to the war – but instead the fighting is intensifying! Palpatine’s your friend, he might listen to you. When you see him tonight, ask him, in the name of simple decency, to offer a ceasefire –”

“Is that an order?” barked Anakin, his face suddenly hard and angry.

“What?”

He rose and began pacing back and forth in front of her, glaring directly into her eyes. “Do I get any say in this? Does my opinion matter? What if I don’t agree with you? What if I think Palpatine’s way is the right way?”

Padmé did not back down. “Anakin, hundreds of thousands of beings are dying every day!”

“It’s a war, Padmé!” Anakin seemed to grow even fiercer. “We didn’t ask for it, remember? You were there – maybe we should have ‘pursued a diplomatic resolution’ in that beast arena!”

“I was –” She swallowed hard, feeling intimidated for the first time. Her friend’s eyes were blazing, as though fueled by some hidden power. “I was only asking …”

“Everyone is only asking!” Anakin shouted. “Everyone wants something from me. And I’m the bad guy if they don’t get it! I’m sick of this. I’m sick of all of it!”

He whipped around and stalked towards the centre of the veranda, his boots banging noisily on the Alderaanian marble. For a moment Padmé thought he was going to leave, but he didn’t. Instead he tucked his hands behind his back, the stress visible on his face as he fought down the anger that had so suddenly and explosively built.

She could only rise, and come to him, and lay her hand softly upon his arm. “Anakin, what is it? What is it really? I’ve never seen you like this.”

Anakin did not meet her eyes.

“Nothing that’s your fault,” he told the floor. “Nothing you can help.”

“Don’t shut me out, Ani,” Padmé said softly. “I’m your friend. I care about you. Let me try.”

“You can’t help me. I’m trying to help you.” He finally turned to face her, and his eyes held only pain. Then they flicked, and suddenly Anakin was looking at her suspiciously. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She froze. It only gave him more ammunition.

“I can feel it, Padmé. I sense you’re keeping a secret. What is it? Something about the Senate? You and Obi-Wan? The twins?”

“My work in the Senate is the same as always, frustrating and monotonous,” Padmé told him. “The twins are fine, as well you saw from my last holoimaging session. And as for my relationship with Obi-Wan … that’s not your business.”

Her light tone seemed to unclench his heart, and a smile ghosted across his lips. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just … it’s hard sometimes, that’s all. I feel like I’m being pulled in a thousand different directions. Everyone wants something.”

“I know, Ani.” She offered a reassuring smile. “And what I told you earlier is true. My door is always open if you want to talk.”

“Thanks, Padmé. I just – thanks.” Anakin smiled more widely. “How are things going with Obi-Wan? I mean, I don’t want to pry, but … little things I notice, he just seems a lot happier these days now we’re home and he can be with you. I know he loves you a lot.”

Padmé nodded. “We’re both a lot happier. I lose much less sleep than I used to. And especially with the babies coming soon, it’s nice to know he’s close.”

“Well, I’m happy for you,” Anakin said honestly. “I really am. And I hope we’ll always be friends.”

“Me too, Ani. Me too.”

***

His conversation with Padmé was still on Anakin’s mind as he parked his speeder outside the Galaxies Opera House for his meeting with the Chancellor. What he had told her was absolutely true – he was very happy for his two best friends. He loved the way Obi-Wan smiled when Padmé’s name was mentioned. Anakin had never seen his Master happier than when he’d glimpsed his children on the holoimage screen. And by the way the couple hugged each other, touched each other, the tender kisses they exchanged … clearly, they were very much in love.

And yet …

And yet sometimes, when Anakin daydreamed, he imagined himself in Obi-Wan’s position. Sometimes he pretended that the twins growing in Padmé’s womb were his children. Sometimes he made believe she was with him in his bed at night, and that the intimate sensations from Padmé that occasionally leaked over the training bond he shared with his Master were reserved not for Obi-Wan, but for him.

At the age of nine Anakin had looked into Padmé’s face and known something like love for the very first time. At the age of nine the Force had told him that she would love him, and they would one day marry and have children together.

The Force had been wrong. Anakin had never quite forgiven it for that.

But he was able to put his jealousy out of mind when he saw Obi-Wan and Padmé together. They were just so happy. And he did not begrudge them that happiness.

Anakin hurried through the main concourse towards Palpatine’s private box. He was unsure exactly why the Chancellor had requested the meeting, nor what the reason might be for the strange selection of venue. Nevertheless, his duties to Palpatine as a friend – and now, he supposed, to the Jedi Council – dictated that he be there for the Chancellor to consult. So he was.

He arrived in the box just as the Mon Calamari ballet was performing its third routine. Anakin sank into a crouch next to Palpatine’s chair. “You wanted to see me, Chancellor?”

Palpatine nodded. “Yes, Anakin! Come closer, I have good news. Our Clone Intelligence Units have discovered the location of General Grievous. He’s hiding in the Utapau system.”

Anakin felt as though a small weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “At last, we’ll be able to capture that monster and end this war.”

“I would worry about the collective wisdom of the Council if they didn’t select you for this assignment,” Palpatine mused. “You are the best choice by far … but they can’t always be trusted to do the right thing.”

“They try,” Anakin defended.

“Sit down,” Palpatine said, gesturing at the chair next to him where Mas Amedda was currently ensconced. “Leave us,” he added to the other occupants of the box.

Without a word, the two Senatorial aides and Red Guards rose and strode out.

“Anakin, you know I’m not able to rely upon the Jedi Council,” continued Palpatine, leaning slightly towards the Knight. “If they haven’t included you in their plot, they soon will.”

Anakin blinked. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“You must sense what I have come to suspect. The Jedi Council want control of the Republic … they’re planning to betray me.”

“Sir, I don’t think –”

“Anakin, search your feelings,” the Chancellor interrupted. “You know, don’t you?”

“I know they don’t trust you,” Anakin said cautiously.

“Or the Senate, or the Republic, or democracy for that matter,” Palpatine added.

Anakin sighed, gazing at his hands. “I have to admit, my trust in them has been shaken.”

“Why?” his friend asked. “They asked you to do something that made you feel dishonest, didn’t they?”

Anakin kept looking at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to reveal, if only because of the task the Jedi Council had set him. After all, he was supposed to keep an eye on Palpatine and the latter’s dealings.

Wasn’t he some sort of double agent, now?

The Chancellor seemed almost to read his thoughts. “They asked you to spy on me, didn’t they?”

“I don’t know … I don’t know what to say,” the Knight managed weakly. If only Padmé were here. She knows how to handle this diplomatic stuff much better than me.

“Remember back to your early teachings,” Palpatine said gently. “All those who gain power are afraid to lose it. Even the Jedi.”

“The Jedi use their power for good,” said Anakin immediately.

“Good is a point of view, Anakin. And the Jedi point of view is not the only valid one. The Dark Lords of the Sith believe in security and justice also, yet they are considered by the Jedi to be –”

“Evil,” supplied Anakin.

“From a Jedi’s point of view,” Palpatine corrected. “The Sith and the Jedi are similar in almost every way, including their quest for greater power. The difference between the two is that the Sith are not afraid of the dark side of the Force. That is why they are more powerful.”

Anakin was already shaking his head, remembering all that Obi-Wan and other Jedi had taught him about the dark Force-users. “The Sith rely on passion for their strength. They think inward, only about themselves.”

Palpatine arched an eyebrow. “And the Jedi don’t?”

The Council wants you to report on all of the Chancellor’s dealings … they want to know what he’s up to …

Obi-Wan’s words came back to Anakin quite suddenly, almost as though his Master was standing in the box with him. Clearly, the Council had a certain motivation behind that decision. But did that motivation really have the good of the Republic in mind?

Or was there something else behind it?

Still, he needed to correct Palpatine on one particular point. “The Jedi are selfless. They only care about others.”

“Or so you’ve been trained to believe. Why is it, then, that they have asked you to do something you feel is wrong?”

Anakin hesitated. “I’m not sure it’s wrong.”

“Have they asked you to betray the Jedi Code?” Palpatine pressed. “A slightly hypocritical request, I should think, given certain rumours I have heard about Master Kenobi’s … dalliances. But that is neither here nor there. Do they wish you to go against the Constitution? A friendship? Your own values? Think. Consider their motives. Keep your mind clear of assumptions. The fear of losing power is a weakness of both the Jedi and the Sith.”

Anakin’s hands twisted in his lap. More than ever, he wished Obi-Wan and Padmé were with him. Padmé could come up with suitable retorts to the Chancellor’s statements. Obi-Wan would know how to respond. Both his friends would know how to handle the fact that Palpatine was making entirely too much sense.

The Chancellor had turned reflectively back to the ballet, seeming to be deep in thought. “Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?”

“No,” Anakin said honestly.

“I thought not,” Palpatine replied with a small chuckle. “It’s not a story the Jedi would tell you. It’s a Sith legend. Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord of the Sith so powerful and so wise, he could use the Force to influence the midi-chlorians to create … life. He had such a knowledge of the dark side that he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying.”

Possibilities exploded within Anakin’s mind, possibilities he had not even dared to consider. “He could actually save people from death?”

“The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.”

“What happened to him?” Anakin asked.

“He became so powerful,” Palpatine recounted. “The only thing he was afraid of was losing his power, which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice everything he knew. Then his apprentice killed him in his sleep. Plagueis never saw it coming.” A small smile crept onto the Chancellor’s face. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? He could save others from death, but not himself.”

Anakin was barely listening. All he could hear were Palpatine’s earlier words. He had such a knowledge of the dark side that he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying … Was this the key to saving Padmé’s life? Was this what he had been searching for ever since the nightmares began plaguing him?

It had to be. He had uncovered no other solution.

Could he really do it? He was the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy, perhaps ever. If anyone could, surely …

Voice choked with emotion, Anakin asked, “Is it possible to learn this power?”

Palpatine’s voice was smooth as silk. “Not from a Jedi.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Democracy's Death

“Padmé?”

She pulled herself towards wakefulness, unwilling to relinquish the dream she’d been having. They were on Naboo, she and Obi-Wan and the twins, and Obi-Wan was levitating shuura fruit …

“Darling?” A light touch on her shoulder, and the sensation of someone climbing into bed next to her.

He’s home.

Padmé blinked, turning slowly. Relief filled her at the sight of Obi-Wan pulling the covers over himself and holding out his arms for an embrace. She slipped gratefully into them, breathing in the scent that was so uniquely him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said softly as he planted gentle kisses on the top of her head. “I just thought you were up already … although your greeting was a bit strange.”

“What do you mean?” Padmé asked.

“When I came in you told me to stop juggling our picnic and get serious,” Obi-Wan explained.

She laughed. “Sorry. I was dreaming. My mother told me once that as a little girl I used to talk in my sleep all the time. I guess I’m doing it again.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“Oh … we were in the Lake Country.” Padmé traced lazy circles on his chest. “You, and me, and the twins. We were having a picnic, and you started using the Force to lift pieces of fruit, because you wanted to show them how to do it. But they weren’t paying attention, so you decided to have a bit of fun … I don’t know why I told you to stop, though.”

“I don’t know.” Obi-Wan sighed. “Did Anakin give you the message? About me having to stay longer?”

“Yes, he did. He came by this evening.”

“How did he seem?”

Padmé considered. “Different, I suppose. He seems very upset at not having been elevated to Mastery. I tried to soothe him, but in the end I don’t know if I helped or not.”

“I thought he would be, but not quite like this,” Obi-Wan said. “Did he give you any indication as to why he was so upset?”

“No. But then, I didn’t probe too deeply. Why, do you think you know?”

“I have theories only. Nothing terribly definite.”

“Nothing as definite as you’d like,” Padmé filled in.

“You know me entirely too well,” chuckled Obi-Wan.

They were silent for several moments. Padmé could feel her eyelids drifting open and closed, but she sensed that her partner had more on his mind than he was telling her.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Mmm?”

“Have you told Ani about our engagement yet?” she asked hesitantly.

He sighed again. “No. I haven’t. I know I said I would not keep it from him, but there just doesn’t seem to be an appropriate time to bring it up. He has so much on his shoulders already. The politics between Palpatine and the Council, the pressures that will inevitably come with his new position … I mean, when I was his age I still had some years to go as a Padawan. And Anakin is far more volatile than I ever was.”

“So you think knowing about our engagement and your leaving the Order could push him over the edge.”

“Not over the edge, necessarily, but it will certainly be one more form of stress that he does not need,” Obi-Wan said. “And he depends upon me, much more than he or I have previously acknowledged. I don’t believe it’s an understatement that when I leave the Order, it will come as a great blow to him.”

“What should we do, then?” Padmé said.

“Wait until the war is over, I suppose. Hopefully some of the pressures on Anakin will have eased by then. And I won’t be resigning until that time, so perhaps it isn’t something we need to worry about at the moment.”

“Perhaps not,” she agreed.

He began to massage her back, moving in light concentric circles. The touch felt good.

“Padmé … there is a very real possibility that in the next few weeks – the next few days, even – either myself or Anakin or likely both of us will be sent to hunt down General Grievous,” Obi-Wan murmured sleepily. “We were discussing it at Council today. And when that happens … we could be apart again.”

“I know,” Padmé replied. “I’m prepared for it. Palpatine has been hinting for days that intelligence is close to finding the whole Separatist Council.”

“So tonight … tonight I want us to sleep in each other’s arms.” He gazed at her hesitantly. “Can we do that? Just so we can be close to each other …”

“Of course, darling.” She pulled the covers up to their shoulders, then wrapped her arms around him. “I love you.”

One last kiss. “I love you too.”

They slept, entwined.

***

She wasn’t shocked to discover him gone the next morning when she awoke. Due to their different schedules, Obi-Wan often left the apartment before she did, particularly if her meetings were scheduled in the afternoon as they so often had been during her pregnancy. Sometimes he woke her before he left, but she suspected that given how late Obi-Wan had come home last night, he hadn’t wanted to disturb her.

Padmé was, however, surprised when he turned up on her veranda as she was halfway through breakfast.

“What are you doing here?” she asked after they’d kissed and he was seated next to her on the couch. “I thought you had an early morning Council meeting.”

Obi-Wan gave her abdomen a final pat – he had been feeling the children kick with a look of great contentment on his face – and reached for a piece of shuura fruit. “I did, but it adjourned early,” he explained between bites. “I’m not due to deploy for another three hours, so I thought I’d come here for a proper send-off.” He winked.

Padmé barely noticed. “Deploy?” she said. “So does that mean they’ve found Grievous?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied. “It was rather odd, actually. Apparently the clone intelligence units informed the Chancellor’s office before the Council, which is a decided deviation from standard procedures. According to Anakin they intercepted a partial message in a diplomatic packet from the chairman of Utapau. And so, I’m being deployed to hunt Grievous down.”

“Only you?” Padmé asked curiously. “Not Anakin, too?”

“No, not Anakin. The Council feels – and rightly so, I suppose – that given his new position as Palpatine’s representative, his place is here. I don’t think it should be a problem, though. I’ll have enough clones to take three systems the size of that planet.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know … it’s not that I don’t have confidence in you. That isn’t it at all. I just – I guess I’d feel better if Ani were there to back you up.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what he said,” Obi-Wan smiled. He raised his hand to her cheek and guided her towards him for a soft kiss. “Padmé, I will be fine. I’ve faced far worse than this and you know it.”

Padmé leaned against him, allowing him to wrap an arm around her. They both knew he was talking about Ventress, and the difficult months that had followed. “I know. And we’ve become stronger for it.”

“Yes. We have.” He hugged her closer. “Now, about that send-off …?”

She gave him a smack, laughing. “You’ve got a one-track mind!”

“Oh do I? Perhaps my lady needs a bit of convincing?” Curling his fingers, Obi-Wan pushed her gently onto the couch and began to tickle her side.

It had an immediate effect. “O-Obi-Wan!” Padmé gasped, writhing with laughter as he moved up and down her side. “S-s-stop! I – hey!”

“You what? Do you surrender?” He intensified his motions.

“Yes! Stop! P-please!” Her giggles did not abate until Obi-Wan leaned over her, pressing soft kisses to her lips, her face, her cheeks. Padmé responded almost unconsciously, pulling him as close as her large belly would allow, delighting in his warm weight on top of her. If they could only stay like this forever …

“Padmé?” Obi-Wan whispered against her neck.

“What is it?” She stroked his hair softly.

“Do you remember Palpatine’s statement after the kidnapping? The one he made after being delivered back to the Senate Office building?”

Padmé considered. “Yes, it was all over the HoloNet. He said that the Senate would vote to continue the war as long as Grievous was alive. Which, of course, it will.”

Obi-Wan played with the fastenings on her dressing gown. “As long as Grievous is alive. Which means that when I apprehend him, the Senate will have no choice but to declare the war over. We’ve already beaten back the Separatists on many of the most important systems. The Separatist Council has been on the run for weeks. It is … difficult for me to see a situation in which the fighting might continue.” He paused to massage her stomach lightly. “As long as the twins aren’t born before that, we may be able to finally begin that life we keep talking about. And if they come before then, we will begin with them in mind.”

“What? You mean – live on Naboo, have the babies there … get married?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Padmé blinked, and blinked again, certain she must have misheard. The image of their future life on Naboo that she shared with Obi-Wan was ever-present, and they had spoken of it often. But those imaginings were just that: dreams, invented to soothe them through the long separations and months of worry and war. She had hoped they might eventually come true, but had sense enough not to dwell on them. And now … now Obi-Wan was suggesting that they could live those dreams. Not only live them, but live them very shortly.

“I can’t believe …” She swallowed hard. “I can’t believe it might actually happen.”

“It was always going to happen, Padmé.” Obi-Wan caressed her cheek. “It’s just that now, we know when.”

Clutching him close to her, Padmé allowed herself a wide smile. “Yes. Now we know when.”

“Speaking of when …”

“You’re insatiable!” she laughed.

“What I am,” he corrected, “is a man who will be leaving his fiancée quite shortly and was too late to do all the naughty things to her he had in his mind last night. So he respectfully requests –”

“A series of intimate relations with her?” Padmé completed.

“Yes. Exactly that.”

They were both chuckling by then.

Obi-Wan began slowly, wanting to savour every moment he had with her. He trailed a series of kisses down over her jawline while simultaneously easing her robe off her shoulders. Inch by inch her breasts were exposed, and he could only continue his ministrations. She moaned, arching her back as his lips encircled her left nipple and sucked softly. The robe fell further.

“No undergarments,” Obi-Wan noted, evidently pleased.

“I wasn’t dressed yet,” Padmé explained breathlessly. She stretched out her arms and tangled her fingers in his hair. “Obi-Wan?”

He was busy near the apex of dark hair between her legs. “Yes?”

“I think … we should move … we’re still on my veranda,” she managed. “I don’t want to end up as the star of a HoloNet erotica vid. Especially not like this.” Her fingers drifted over her abdomen.

“Mmm, fair point,” Obi-Wan agreed. The warmth that was his breath abruptly vanished, and it took all of Padmé’s willpower not to tell him to forget it, that he should continue and continue right then and there.

But she felt his touch on her hand, urging her to stand, and when she did he pulled her close and slung the discarded robe over her shoulders in an attempt at modesty. She could already feel his need pressing at her thigh, and her lips curved upwards in a devilish smile. “The bedroom,” Padmé whispered.

No further discussion was required. Obi-Wan backed her towards the stairs and she was already kissing him, tasting her own scent on his lips, and somehow he was managing to remove his clothing as they walked – oh, the Force could be so useful sometimes! – and she felt that they mustn’t waste a moment …

The bed would not work. Some small section of Padmé’s brain realized that the girth of her pregnancy couldn’t permit them their usual position. Perhaps it was time to become more inventive, and perhaps she had a solution. Obi-Wan continued to back her towards the bed, but she stopped him, gesturing towards the wall.

His gaze was questioning. “Are you sure, darling?”

“With this stomach? Absolutely.”

Obi-Wan smiled, and pinned her there much as he had at Varykino. Padmé drew him closer, allowing her fingernails to rake lightly over his back in a gesture she knew he loved. Sure enough, a small growl snaked from between his lips and he ground against her, licking and nibbling her neck.

“Take me,” Padmé whispered, breath light and quick in the space between them.

He did exactly that, pillowing his head on her chest and sliding inside, inch by torturous inch. It was almost painful for her, she was so aroused, but she also understood her partner’s desire to drag the moment out for as long as possible. Obi-Wan would have to leave soon, and after that … he could return months later or he could not return at all. She did not like to think that way, but it was nonetheless a truism of their relationship. Besides, he gave her so much, and seldom asked for anything in return. She owed him this small chance to be selfish.

“Padmé …” Obi-Wan murmured, and she was surprised to discover that his voice was not husky and aroused as she had expected, but small and vulnerable. Perhaps he was thinking along the same lines?

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé returned, but it came out more as a moan, a plea for him to quicken his pace.

He soon did, and she wrapped one leg around his hips to urge him deeper. Padmé could feel her climax approaching, the pinpricks of warmth beginning in the pit of her stomach and spreading out to her arms and legs … Obi-Wan was going faster now, more desperately; his sweat was beading on her chest as his bangs stuck limply to his forehead … then a sudden gush of warm wet, and he stilled.

She stroked his hair, murmuring softly as her own quiet wave broke.

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Couldn’t … wait …”

“It’s all right.” Padmé smiled serenely, thinking of how glad she was just to be holding him. “I love you.” She kissed his head tenderly.

“I love you,” he replied, and suddenly their positions were reversed: she in his arms, he stroking her hair. She did not know how it happened. But neither did she care.

For now, they were together, and this was enough.

***

In years to come, Obi-Wan would remember very little of the events that were to follow. Or perhaps more accurately, he would make a concerted effort to block them out whenever they entered his mind, for inevitably they caused him great pain. Sometimes, however, forgetting was impossible. Every detail of the goodbye he shared with Padmé would seep through. He would recall the tears on her face, how he caught them with his fingers and bent to kiss them away. Her voice would come to him, the tones soft as she told him to keep safe, and to remember her and the twins. It was when she mentioned the babies that his own control broke, the control which he had fought so hard to maintain for his love. This time it was Padmé who caught the tears that dripped into his beard, and grasped his hand to lay it on her abdomen. Obi-Wan could remember each kick and punch that connected with his palm. He could remember how he sank within the Force once more and became the children, whispered to them I’m going away … but I promise I’ll be back.

He could remember how she kissed him one final time. He could remember her last words: “When you return, it will be different. Don’t forget that, Obi-Wan. I know I won’t.” He remembered that, and he remembered how they both tried to hold on to the other’s hand for as long as possible as he began to walk away. How he sat in his speeder for a full minute, watching her stand on her balcony with her arm raised in a wave. How this was perhaps the most difficult goodbye yet, and he was not sure why.

But his most poignant and clear memory came later, and it had nothing to do with Padmé. It had to do with someone whose life he had been a part of for far longer, and who had had a more profound influence on him than he could ever have articulated. Obi-Wan hated to think of this memory, and yet in some strange way he also relied on it. He relied on it because it was his last pure recollection of his best friend.

“You’re going to need me on this one, Master,” Anakin said with a sigh as they walked down the metal ramp towards a waiting battle cruiser.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Oh, I agree. However, it may just turn out to be a wild bantha chase.” He paused. “Listen, I – this isn’t exactly easy for me to say, but I wanted to ask you an important question.”

“What is it?”

“If anything should … well, happen to me on this mission, I want you to promise me something.” Obi-Wan looked his friend directly in the eye. “I want you to promise me that you will take care of Padmé and the babies. Don’t let it interfere with your duties as a Jedi. But if you can – see that she gets to Naboo, that’s where she wants to give birth, and make sure she’s all right. And if I don’t come back, I want you to be the one to tell her.”

“Don’t be silly, Obi-Wan,” said Anakin with a nervous chuckle. “Of course you’re coming back. You could take Grievous any day!”

“Promise me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “I don’t want to place an unfair burden on you, but … I need to know Padmé will be all right. Please.”

In years to come he would wish he hadn’t ignored the small flicker of fear that passed over his friend’s face, for just an instant.

The Knight relaxed into a warm smile. “Of course, Master. I promise. I’ll do everything I can. You just make sure nothing does happen to you. For all of our sakes.”

“Don’t worry.” Obi-Wan smiled back. “I have enough clones with me to take three systems the size of Utapau, as I reassured Padmé earlier today. I think I’ll be able to handle the situation … even without your help.”

They both laughed. Obi-Wan glanced at his friend one last time, then started down the ramp.

“Master!”

He turned back. Anakin was regarding him with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Master, I’ve disappointed you,” the Knight said in a rush. “I haven’t been very appreciative of your training. I’ve been arrogant … and I apologize. I’ve just been so frustrated with the Council. And the nightmares …” He shook his head. “Your friendship means everything to me. Yours and Padmé’s.”

Obi-Wan felt a rush of affection and warmth for Anakin, and it showed in the wide smile on his face. “You are strong and wise, Anakin, and I am very proud of you. I have trained you since you were a small boy. I’ve taught you everything I know. And you have become a far greater Jedi than I could ever hope to be. You’ve saved my life more times than I can remember. But be patient, Anakin. It won’t be long before the Council promotes you to Mastery.”

They held one another’s gaze for a long moment, each with his own thoughts. Obi-Wan would remember pondering whether he should tell Anakin of his engagement to Padmé and his plans to leave the Jedi Order, especially as the death of Grievous would likely mean the end of the war. But somehow … somehow, this still didn’t seem to be the right time. He needed to speak to his friend after the turmoil of the war was over, after they had dealt with all the difficulties that would entail. Yes: that was what he would do.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said finally, “may the Force be with you.”

“Goodbye, old friend,” Obi-Wan replied. “May the Force be with you.”

They smiled at each other one more time. Then Obi-Wan headed down the ramp to meet the Republic cruiser.

***

“I am very grateful to be included here,” Chi Eekway said as she accepted another mug of hoi-broth from C3PO’s tray. “I speak directly only for my own sector, of course, but I can tell you that many Senators are becoming very nervous indeed. You may not know that the new governors are arriving with full regiments of clone troops – what they call security forces. We have all begun to wonder if these regiments are intended to protect us from the Separatists … or to protect the governors from us.”

Padmé continued to scan the document reader in her hand, mulling over various ways she could respond. This was a larger meeting of concerned Senators; Bail and Mon had managed to gather a small cabal right under Palpatine’s nose while Padmé kept the Chancellor occupied with numerous counter-votes and objections. The Senators were meeting today in her apartment to discuss the next moves they might make. Among those moves, Padmé believed, should be the consultation of one or more Jedi, but she knew it would be an uphill battle to convince her colleagues of this necessity.

“I have – reliable information – that General Grievous has been located, and that the Jedi are already moving against his position,” she finally spoke up. “The war may be over in a matter of days.”

“But what then?” asked Bail. “How do we make Palpatine withdraw his governors? How do we stop him from garrisoning troops in all our systems?”

“We don’t have to make him do anything,” Padmé reminded her friend. “The Senate granted him executive powers only for the duration of the emergency –”

“Yet it is only Palpatine himself who has the authority to declare when the emergency is over,” Mon interrupted. “How do we make him surrender power back to the Senate?”

“There are many who are willing to do just that,” Eekway said, shifting uncomfortably. “Not just my own people. Many Senators. We are ready to force him to surrender power.”

Padmé bit her lip, snapping the document reader closed. Were they actually discussing this? Were they actually speaking of removing the Chancellor? Granted, it was easy to see that he had become a dictator, but to fly in the face of democracy like that …

Then again, it’s quite possible democracy no longer exists with Palpatine in power, she thought. I said as much to Ani last night.

She scanned each Senator’s face, schooling her features into a blank mask. “Would anyone care for further refreshment?”

“Senator Amidala, I fear you don’t understand –” Eekway began.

“Senator Eekway. Another hoi-broth?” Padmé asked.

“No, that’s –”

“Very well, then,” Padmé said with an air of finality. “Threepio, that will be all. Please tell Motée and Ellé that they are dismissed for the day. Then you are free to power down for awhile.”

“Thank you, Mistress Padmé,” the golden droid replied. “Though I must say, this discussion has been most stimulating –”

Now her expression had become firm. “Threepio. That will be all.”

“Yes, Mistress. Of course. I quite understand.” He shuffled stiffly out of the room.

Padmé turned back to her fellow Senators, gesturing to the document reader. “This is a very dangerous step. We cannot let this turn into another war.”

“That’s the last thing any of us wants,” Bail assured her. “Alderaan has no armed forces. We don’t even have a planetary defense system. A political solution is our only option.”

“Which is the purpose of this petition,” Mon interjected, clasping Padmé’s hand. “We’re hoping that a show of solidarity within the Senate might stop Palpatine from further subverting the Constitution. With the signatures of a full two thousand Senators –”

“– we still have less than we need to stop his supermajority from amending the Constitution any way he happens to want,” Padmé completed. “I am willing to present the petition to Palpatine, but I am losing faith in the Senate’s readiness, or even ability, to rein him in. I think we should consult the Jedi.”

They’ll help us, won’t they? Anakin said yesterday that they are just as dissatisfied with the situation.

“That would be dangerous,” spoke up Bana Breemu.

“We don’t know where the Jedi stand in all this,” Mon agreed, although her eyes held a touch of sympathy when Padmé glanced at her.

“The Jedi aren’t any happier with the situation than we are,” Padmé blurted, before she could stop herself. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Obi-Wan certainly had expressed displeasure, and Anakin … well, these days it was almost impossible to know his true feelings on the state of galactic government. She was convinced that he only said half of what he did in order to be contradictory. But he had also referred to his Council appointment as “political maneuvering” between the Jedi and the Chancellor, so surely that had to mean something.

Senator Breemu arched an eyebrow. “You seem … remarkably well-informed about Jedi business, Senator Amidala,” she said suspiciously.

Padmé stared back, feeling defiant. Let them think what they wanted. At this point, some things were more important than preserving one’s reputation. Not that she would have much of a reputation left, soon.

Giddean Danu was shaking his head doubtfully. “If we are to openly oppose the Chancellor, we need the support of the Jedi. We need their moral authority – otherwise, what do we have?”

“The moral authority of the Jedi, such as it is, has been spent lavishly upon war,” Senator Breemu snorted. “I fear they have none left for politics.”

Moral authority. There was perhaps only one Jedi – one person – whom Padmé knew still possessed it, even despite the war. She knew because she had seen it, had seen the sadness and regret in his eyes over this conflict that was rending the galaxy in two, this conflict that had forced him to take lives against his natural inclinations and respect for all living things. She knew because of the way he had stood watching her on the first night he came home. She knew because of the sadness in his eyes when he left her to hunt down General Grievous.

Obi-Wan was not a man given to showing emotion.

“One Jedi, then,” Padmé suggested. “There is one Jedi, one whom I truly know all of us can trust absolutely. I feel certain that at least by consulting with him, we may be able to turn this situation to our advantage.”

“Patience, Senator,” Chi Eekway sighed.

Fang Zar was nodding. “Yes, we cannot block the Chancellor’s supermajority, but we can show him that opposition to his methods is growing. Perhaps that alone might persuade him to moderate his tactics.”

“When you present the Petition of the Two Thousand, many things may change,” added Senator Breemu.

Mon glanced at Padmé again, pity and regret in her eyes as she said, “Let us see what you can accomplish with the petition this afternoon, before we involve the Jedi.”

***

Her friend’s words were still echoing in her head as Padmé sat outside Palpatine’s office, surrounded by the rays of the setting sun.

The rest of the delegation looked nervous. Fang Zar kept running a hand through his beard and tangling his fingers in its knots. Bana Breemu obsessively examined her nails, occasionally bringing her index finger up to her mouth and nibbling. Giddean Danu was pacing around the small waiting area, making a circle around a coffee table. Padmé had seated herself in the chair nearest the door, the datapad containing the petition clutched tightly in her fingers. The babies kicked furiously, but she was trying to ignore that for the time being.

Bail and Mon were absent, having decided that they should concentrate their efforts elsewhere until the small group was more assured of having some sort of effect. So it fell to Padmé to present the petition to Palpatine, and to hope that she had some sort of effect.

How did it come to this? she thought as an aide ushered them inside. How did Palpatine go from being one of my most trusted advisers to this … enemy?

She might have continued in this vein for some time had she not raised her eyes to Palpatine’s desk and seen who precisely was standing behind it. Her stomach gave a horrible lurch as she recognized Anakin.

Padmé was shocked, and she didn’t like it. Politically, she had never liked surprises. What was he doing here? Was his presence supposed to demonstrate precisely where the Jedi stood in these matters? She knew Anakin had been appointed to the Council, but did that mean that his job was now to wait upon the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic? Was Anakin personally in favour of Palpatine’s dictatorial policies? It was certainly worth wondering about.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t back down now, nor did she have any intention of doing so. Padmé clamped her practiced politician’s persona in place, and plunged into the fray. Briefly she explained why the appointment had been set up and then introduced her fellow Senators, careful not to look Anakin in the eye at any point.

“We are not attempting to de-legitimize your government,” she then said. “That’s why we’re here. If we were trying to organize an opposition – if we sought to impose our requests as demands – we would hardly bring them before you in this fashion. This petition has been signed by two thousand Senators, Chancellor. We ask only that you instruct your governors not to interfere with the legitimate business of the Senate, and that you open peace talks with the Separatists. We wish merely to end the war, and bring peace and stability back to our homeworlds. Surely you can understand this.”

Palpatine’s face was utterly inscrutable. “I understand a great many things.”

“This system of governors you have created is very troubling,” Padmé continued, her confidence increasing slightly. “It seems that you are imposing military controls even on loyalist systems.”

“Your reservations are noted, Senator Amidala,” Palpatine replied. “I assure you that the Republic governors are intended only to make your systems safer – by coordinating planetary defense forces, and ensuring that neighbouring systems mesh into cooperative units, and bringing production facilities up to speed in service to the war effort. That’s all. They will in no way compete with the duties and prerogatives – with the power – of the Senate.”

“May I take it, then, that there will be no further amendments to the Constitution?”

The Chancellor put on a credible imitation of confusion. “My dear Senator, what has the Constitution to do with this? I thought we were discussing ending the war. Once the Separatists have been defeated, then we can start talking about the Constitution again. Must I remind you that the extraordinary powers granted to my office by the Senate are only in force for the duration of the emergency? Once the war ends, they expire automatically.”

Padmé frowned. “And your governors? Will they ‘expire’ too?”

“They are not my governors, my lady, they are the Republic’s,” Palpatine corrected. “The fate of their positions will be in the hands of the Senate, where it belongs.”

“And peace talks?” Padmé pressed. “Will you offer a ceasefire? Have you even tried a diplomatic resolution to the war?”

If Anakin was not going to ask, then she would. So be it.

“You can trust me to do the right thing,” replied the Chancellor, and none of them missed the slightly sharper tone his voice carried. “That is, after all, why I am here.”

“But surely –” Fang Zar began.

Palpatine rose, drawing himself up to his full height and gazing down imperiously upon Padmé. “I have said I will do what is right. And that should be enough for your … committee.”

Padmé set her mouth in a firm line. I tried, Mon, she thought bitterly. I tried. For all the good it did.

“On behalf of the Delegation of the Two Thousand, I thank you, Chancellor,” she said stiffly, slapping the datapad down on his desk.

“And I thank you, Senator Amidala, and your friends, for bringing this to my attention.” Now that they were turning to go, the sharp edge had left Palpatine’s tone.

As Padmé pivoted away from the desk, she glanced one last time at Anakin, who stood stolid and unmoving. He had not spoken once during the meeting. Her eyes met his and she could practically feel the frostiness that had settled into the air between them.

He was not on her side.

Perhaps he never had been.

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
When times were more innocent, I remember Queen Jamillia remarking to me, “The day we stop believing democracy can work is the day we lose it.”

I hesitate to admit this, but it is probable that day has finally arrived.

My meeting with the Supreme Chancellor this afternoon was, to put it mildly, a farce. A game played upon myself and the Senators who consented to meet with me. I’m writing this because I want future generations to understand that, to understand the folly into which our Republic descended once all democratic principles were tossed aside. Regardless of what happens tomorrow, or the next day, or five years from now, history may look kindly upon Palpatine and I cannot abide that. I cannot abide the possibility that he may be celebrated and held up as a model leader. If anything, he is a model dictator. I cannot help thinking, after the performance of today, that there is some reason he wishes the war to continue. How he will justify this to the public I’m not sure, but it’s likely he has some trick up his sleeve.

I wish Obi-Wan was here so that I could talk to him about this. At one time I might have confided in Anakin, but it’s become clear I cannot do that. The first person I saw when I walked into the Chancellor’s office was my supposed “friend.” And if I had expected him to speak up in defense of my ideals, I was to be sorely mistaken. Anakin has clearly fallen under Palpatine’s auspices, which perhaps should not be surprising given that they have been friends for many years. I suppose what does surprise me is that, when it came down to a choice between myself and the Chancellor, that I would lose out. That Obi-Wan would lose out, since he believes in the principles of democracy just as strongly as I do.

I hate that politics has driven such a wedge between us three. But I’m afraid that’s precisely what’s happened. And if Anakin doesn’t see through to the fundamental core of the destructive lies that Palpatine is obviously feeding him, I dread to think what may happen.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Endgame

Swish. Swish.

Coffee table, window, couch, coffee table. Padmé paced, making the circle, listening to her dress swishing against her ankles.

Swish. Swish.

Coffee table, window, couch, coffee table.

“Miss Padmé, would you perhaps like to have a seat?”

She gazed for a moment at C-3PO, incomprehension hanging in the air between them.

“No, Threepio,” Padmé said tersely. “I’m fine.”

Coffee table, window, couch, coffee table.

Swish. Swish.

“Might I offer you a snack?”

“No.”

The refusal was harsher than she had intended, and she immediately felt guilty for her tone. He was only trying to help, after all. What she really wanted was someone other than a droid to talk to, someone who would listen to her frustrations with Anakin and Palpatine and the apparent death of democracy she had witnessed in the latter’s office that afternoon. Someone who could comfort her, hug her, commiserate with her.

Someone who wasn’t off battling General Grievous for a Republic that was on life support.

Padmé bit her lip, forcing down that worry. She’d been checking the HoloNet feeds at least once every hour, but there wasn’t any news yet. She didn’t know whether this was good or bad.

“Threepio, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now.”

“Quite understandable, of course, m’lady,” the droid replied. “Is there anything else I might do for you?”

“Possibly. When was the last time you checked the HoloNet?”

“Approximately fifty-one minutes and eleven point three seconds ago, Mistress Padmé,” C-3PO replied. “Shall I look once more?”

“Yes, please.” She resumed her pacing, heart once more in her throat as it had been each time she or Threepio had accessed the feeds. Padmé knew it wasn’t good for either her or the children to get so worked up, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been gripped that day by the very real sense that something was about to happen, and this feeling had resonated even more powerfully in the hours since the delegation members left Palpatine’s office. She tried to sit still, tried to focus on other mundane tasks, but found her mind wandering and soon reconciled herself to the fact that no real work would be accomplished that night.

So, she’d begun to pace.

Padmé heard the droid’s mechanical servomotors whirring and swallowed once again as her heart leapt into her throat. Involuntarily her fists clenched as she pried open her jaw. “Threepio. Any news?”

“Oh, yes, m’lady, and it is most wonderful! According to the latest HoloNet reports, moments ago Master Kenobi destroyed General Grievous! The Chancellor’s office is being informed as we speak.”

She sagged onto her couch, relief coursing through her veins. He’s safe. He’s all right. The mission succeeded.

The war will end.

Padmé sat bolt upright at that last thought.

The war would end.

We may finally be able to begin that life we keep talking about …

Obi-Wan’s words came rushing back. We will finally be able to begin that life we keep talking about, Padmé thought.

The golden droid stood on the other side of the table, apparently trying to puzzle out the myriad emotions flitting across her face. “Miss Padmé –” he began.

“Yes. Thank you, Threepio. Thank you very much. That’s – that’s indeed the most wonderful news.” She swiped at her eyes and paused, thinking hard. “Would you do me a favour and bring me the datapad from my bedside table?”

“Of course, m’lady.”

Padmé glanced downwards. “There’s something I need to research.”

***

D’Anna, Ishaya, Aisha, Ruwéena, Savrinia …

“No,” Padmé muttered, “no, something simple, those are far too flowery.”

She pressed a button on her pad, scrolling downwards.

“Threepio, what do you think of the name Leia?”

“I’m sure I can’t say, m’lady,” the golden droid replied. “Why must humans choose ‘names’ for each other anyway? Would numbers not be easier?”

Padmé smiled and shook her head. “Perhaps for a droid, but not for a human being. We like names to be an extension of ourselves, our personalities. You can’t really achieve that with numbers.”

“Ahh.” Threepio nodded like he got it, but she understood that he probably didn’t. “With respect, Mistress, should not Master Kenobi be helping you with this task? It is my understanding that in many human cultures, the father assists with the naming of the offspring.”

“It’s true, Threepio, but I suppose … I suppose we just haven’t had time to talk about it, that’s all,” she sighed. “We’ve both had so much to do, and so much weighing on our minds lately. It’s something we’ll need to discuss when he returns, but there’s no harm in making a preliminary list.” Padmé scrolled further, to the list of boys’ names. “What about Luke for a boy?”

“Most uncommon in Nubian society, is it not? According to my database –”

“I don’t want my children to bear common names,” Padmé explained. “When I was growing up, nearly every girl in my classes at school had a name ending in ‘é’ and it was so confusing. The leia is a flower, it grows wild around Varykino. And as for Luke, well … I like its sound. Its simplicity.”

“As long as I’m activated I don’t believe I will ever understand human behaviour,” C-3PO said, producing a credible imitation of a sigh through his vocoder. “My lady, I must consult with Captain Typho about the evening security. I will return momentarily.”

He shuffled out of the room, and with a chuckle Padmé glanced back at her datapad.

Padmé.

She jerked her head up and glanced around, searching for the owner of the voice. She knew it belonged to Anakin, but what in the galaxy would he be doing here at this hour? And the room was empty …

Padmé …

Suddenly she could see him, as clearly as though she were in the same room with him, but that room was not her apartment. It was a high-ceilinged circular chamber with a mosaic floor and windows all around, red-cushioned chairs arranged around its outer walls. Anakin stood at the far wall, next to one of the chairs, looking out over the sun-kissed landscape of Coruscant. Looking towards Five Hundred Republica.

Quite abruptly Padmé found herself back in her apartment, but she could still sense him, still feel him there. She thought of the Force connections Obi-Wan liked to establish with the babies, and realized with a jolt that this must be something like the same thing … only with her.

She rose, walking to her window, and looked towards the Jedi Temple. From here she could just see it, its tall spires poking towards the Coruscanti atmosphere. Instinct told her Anakin was there, instinct and the lingering connection.

It was a most curious sensation. Padmé was still herself, her thoughts still belonged uniquely to her, but at the same time she could feel another person inside her where none typically existed. She could hear, too, Anakin’s breath, the beat of his heart, even the whirring of the servomotors in his mechanical arm. Was he feeling the same things, but for her? The curls of her hair, her dark eyes looking towards the Temple, the children restless inside her?

Her thoughts? The protectiveness she still felt for the little boy inside the man, the boy who had never truly left? The unconditional love and acceptance she had always tried to project, the affection for perhaps her dearest friend?

Padmé tried to bring forth those emotions once more, thinking of them until they coalesced into one statement: Ani, you’re my best friend, and I love you.

Instead of the reaction she had foreseen, the warmth and the love and perhaps the slight embarrassment, another hit her as unexpectedly and abruptly as a slap in the face. She felt fear, but this was unlike any sort of fear she’d ever experienced before. Fear was almost too weak a word to contain the truth of the emotion; abject terror was more suitable but perhaps still not descriptive enough. She was suddenly confronted with an image of herself, in a white hospital gown, screaming. Screaming, and gasping for strength, and then suddenly, inexplicably … perishing. Dying. Dying, while a baby’s wail surged around her.

Padmé blinked as she was again gripped by the terror. Anakin’s terror, she suddenly understood, and the pieces at last came together. This was his nightmare. This was what he had been experiencing each time he went to sleep, ever since she told him of her pregnancy. The terror had mutated until it gained life, life and a horrific influence. It coiled around Anakin as some huge monster might, engulfing him invisibly and completely.

“Ani,” Padmé whispered, and tried again to send him her love.

But the connection had gone silent.

***

“Miss Padmé? … Miss Padmé! You must wake, something terrible has happened at the Jedi Temple!”

The droid’s speech filtered slowly through her consciousness as she struggled towards wakefulness.

“I – huh?” She finally opened her eyes to find C-3PO standing next to her bed. “Threepio, what is the matter? It must be two after midnight by now!” Padmé let out a loud and quite unladylike yawn, almost as though to prove her point.

“Oh, but m’lady, you don’t understand, it’s the Temple, it appears to be on fire!”

“What? What are you talking about, it can’t possibly –” But Padmé was swiveling her head towards her bedroom window as she spoke, and the words died in her throat.

A reddish glow illuminated the sky, red and flickering and marred by a smear of dark smoke. In the dim light she could clearly see one of the spires flaming, spitting orange and yellow sparks as the fire consumed it.

“Oh my goodness.” Padmé hurried out of bed, not even bothering to pull on a robe as she rushed out of the bedroom. “Threepio, has the Senate Emergency Response Team been activated?”

“Indeed they have, and I also checked the latest HoloNet feeds,” the droid chattered along behind her. “According to the news out of Chancellor Palpatine’s office, there has been a Jedi rebellion, and clone troopers are working to subdue the –”

“Excuse me?” She spun. “A – what? A Jedi rebellion? How is that possible?”

Her mind skipped to Obi-Wan, and she instantly dismissed the official story out of hand. She knew the Jedi, knew they would not participate in anything of the sort, so what was coming out of Palpatine’s office had to be pure propaganda, nothing more and nothing less. But what could he have against the Jedi? Why would it be to his advantage to spin the situation in this way? From her meeting with the Chancellor yesterday, it would seem that the Jedi were actually on Palpatine’s side, given how Anakin had stood behind the desk in an apparent show of solidarity –

Anakin!

He’d been at the Temple.

“Threepio, listen to me, and listen very carefully,” Padmé said, looking the droid directly in his photoreceptors. “We are not to treat one word of the Chancellor’s press release as truth, do you understand? Not until we know more facts about precisely what has transpired here. It is clear to me now that Palpatine’s office cannot be trusted any longer, and that it may in fact be necessary to disbelieve what we are told. Any Jedi who come to call are to be let in without delay and with no questions asked. And do not ask me if I’m sure about this or whether it’s safe. I assure you I know what I’m doing. Do I make myself clear?”

C-3PO nodded once. “Yes, of course, Mistress Padmé.”

She swallowed, pushing down her emotions. “My understanding is that Anakin’s last known location was the Temple. I want you to contact Chancellor Palpatine’s office and ask if they know where he is. They may not tell you the truth, but it’s a start, at least. I want to know that he’s okay.”

“Understood, m’lady. Shall I also inquire after Master Kenobi’s safety?”

Tempting, but she couldn’t risk it, not if the Jedi were somehow enemies of the state now. The only reason it was even safe to ask about Anakin was his friendship with Palpatine. Padmé bit her lip, forcing herself to stay calm. “No. We can’t, not right now. Perhaps it’ll be all right later,” she added, more for herself than for the droid, and suddenly it was a struggle to keep the tears in.

C-3PO nodded again, then shuffled out of the room.

Padmé faced her picture window, looking out over Coruscant and towards the Temple where the fire blazed unabated. Obi-Wan had gone outsystem, but she knew with near certainty that Anakin would be there. What if he was injured, trapped somewhere? Threepio had said that clone troopers were “working to subdue” the rebel Jedi. What in goddesses’ name did “working to subdue” mean? Did it mean holding them at gunpoint? What if it meant killing them? What if Anakin had been caught by the troopers? What if Palpatine hadn’t intervened in time, and her friend was dead? What if he tried to fight back, and failed?

Stop playing “what if”, Padmé told herself.

But she couldn’t. What if Obi-Wan had returned from Utapau early, and been caught in the crossfire? What if he was lying trapped in the Temple? What if the troopers arrested him, jailed him? What if Obi-Wan hadn’t returned, but had been caught in the crossfire all the same, on Utapau or another far-flung world?

Two tears slipped down her cheeks, unbidden.

She cradled her head in her hands, willing herself to recover her dignity, to think rationally and clearly and calmly. Just because you can’t stop thinking of the possibilities doesn’t mean they will all happen. Obi-Wan and Anakin could be perfectly fine. You shouldn’t let your imagination run away with you.

Padmé took several deep breaths. The emotions could, would have to, wait until later. So would the fear and the anxiety. She knew she was good at bottling up her emotions when required, having done it so many times before. She’d done it when Qui-Gon had been killed. When her parents had forced her to stop writing letters to Obi-Wan. When she was made to leave Coruscant before the signing of the Military Creation Act. The battle of Geonosis. The one heady night she had spent with Obi-Wan after that battle. All Obi-Wan’s missions, whenever he was away fighting the war. The day she found out she was pregnant with the twins. The Separatist attack on Coruscant.

Yes, there had been many times. This would just have to be another.

She heard the squeak of C-3PO’s servomotors behind her and abruptly turned, her eyes asking the unspoken question.

“The Chancellor’s office indicated Master Anakin returned to the Jedi Temple,” the droid informed her. “Don’t worry, m’lady. I’m sure he will be all right.”

At that, Padmé could not help it.

She faced the window again, and cried.

***

Obi-Wan was drenched, and exhausted, and considerably annoyed. An end to the battle had been in sight, particularly with Grievous’ destruction, and then for no reason at all, his squadron of clone troopers had suddenly seen fit to blast him off the Utapaun rock. His lizard mount, Boga, had taken most of the shots, twisting to shield him with her body as they both plummeted into the vast canyon below. He supposed he should be grateful to her for that, and he was. But something was definitely wrong, and he intended to figure out precisely what.

He crept around to the side of the landing platform, listening to the clones.

“Did you find Kenobi?” he heard Commander Cody ask.

“No one could have survived that fall,” another trooper answered.

“Start loading your men on the ship,” Cody ordered, and there was a chorus of “Yes, sir’s” and a flurry of movement from the soldiers.

Obi-Wan waited until he could no longer sense their life signatures in the Force, then trotted across the platform past the inert body of General Grievous. He could see only one way to escape, and that was in the bio-droid general’s personal starfighter. It had the advantage of concealment, in any case: if the ship happened to be spotted by any Republic cruisers, they would assume he was a lone Separatist fleeing the ongoing battle. And anyway, he intended to be out of there well before any suspicions had time to be raised.

The plan went off without a hitch. After a few randomized hyperspace jumps, Obi-Wan found himself floating in empty space. He was quite alone. Perhaps the time had come to try and find out exactly what had happened, and why.

“Emergency code nine-thirteen,” he said into the comlink. “I have no contact on any frequency.”

Nothing but static. Obi-Wan tamped down on his rising sense of panic, and repeated himself.

“Mast … Kenobi …” a crackly voice said.

It was vaguely recognizable as that of Senator Bail Organa. But what would he be doing with a Jedi communications beacon? “I’ve locked on. Repeat,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Master Kenobi?” A small hologram flickered to life on the dashboard.

“Senator Organa! My clone troops turned on me, I need help.”

Organa nodded. “We’ve just rescued Master Yoda. It appears this ambush has happened everywhere. We’re sending you our coordinates.”

***

Padmé had run out of tears. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so spent, or so helpless. The fire at the Jedi Temple still had not abated, even with the first rays of the dawn beginning to lick at the horizon. Smoke pouring from the Temple had given the clouds above it an odd pinkish-red colour, which under any other circumstances would have been beautiful. Now it was simply a ghastly reminder of the night’s events.

“My lady?” C-3PO had come up behind her. “There’s a Jedi fighter docking on the veranda.”

She didn’t even stop to think, just scrambled from the room and down the stairs as fast as her feet could carry her. Part of her hoped for Anakin, but a larger, more significant part wanted Obi-Wan there, if only to provide reassurance that everything was going to be okay. Realistically she knew that to find both of them alive was something improbable and therefore not to be expected.

Padmé tried not to feel disappointed when she saw Anakin disembarking from the fighter, and she wasn’t, really. She wrapped him in a tight hug, once again having to contain her tears.

“Are you all right?” The words came tumbling out. “I heard there was an attack on the Jedi Temple, you can see the smoke from here!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Anakin assured her, and although his tone was gentle, there was a deep cadence to it that she wasn’t sure she’d noticed before. “I came to see if you and the babies are safe.”

“Captain Typho’s here, we’re all right.” Padmé stared him down, willing him not to lie to her. “What’s happening?”

“The situation is not good,” said Anakin grimly. “The Jedi have tried to overthrow the Republic.”

Impossible! “I can’t believe that!” she exclaimed.

“I couldn’t either at first, but it’s true. I saw Master Windu attempt to assassinate the Chancellor myself.”

Padmé bit her lip. She didn’t understand why Anakin was parroting Palpatine’s press release, but she wasn’t inclined to take it at face value any more than she had the statements from the Chancellor’s office. Nevertheless, something told her she should be circumspect about this disbelief for now.

“Anakin, what are you going to do?” she asked carefully.

Anakin looked at his feet, clasping his hands behind his back and striding away slowly. “I will not betray the Republic. My loyalties lie with the Chancellor, and with the Senate … and with you.”

“What about Obi-Wan? Ani, do you – do you have any idea what’s happened to him? I just need to know that.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard.

A dark look flitted across Anakin’s face, and Padmé noticed suddenly that his eyes no longer seemed quite as blue as they usually were. “I don’t know. Many Jedi have been killed. We can only hope he’s remained loyal to the Chancellor.”

Loyal to – well, this was even more confusing. Cold fear gripped her, and she looked away. “What happens if he isn’t, Ani? And what about me – I’m carrying his children, I’ve opposed this war! What if they start an inquisition? What will you do if we become suspects?”

“Palpatine and I have discussed you already, Padmé.” Anakin leveled his black gaze at her. “You’re in the clear, so long as you avoid … inappropriate associations.”

“How am I in the clear?” Padmé demanded. “And is Obi-Wan –”

“You’re in the clear because you’re with me,” he interrupted. “Because I say you are.”

She felt as though a bucket of ice had cascaded into her stomach. “What did you tell him? Anakin, you know Obi-Wan’s and my relationship can’t become public! Especially not now!”

“This isn’t about that,” Anakin said harshly, and his eyes were chips of obsidian. “This isn’t about any of that. It’s about your safety. Yours and the twins’. You’re safe if I say you are.”

“As long as Palpatine doesn’t change his mind,” she muttered. More than ever she longed for Obi-Wan, or at least for the old Anakin. He hadn’t smiled once since he’d arrived.

Anakin strode back over to where Padmé stood. He cupped her chin in his hand and for one horrible moment she was afraid he might kiss her. Instead, he began to speak again. “The Separatist leadership is in hiding on Mustafar. I’m on my way to deal with them right now.”

“Deal with them? Like the Jedi are being dealt with?” Her tone came out rougher than she had expected, and for her it was almost angry. She decided it suited her mood.

“This is an important mission,” he insisted. “I’m going to end the war.”

Padmé gazed towards the Jedi Temple, still smoldering in the distance. “I’m becoming afraid,” she said softly, “that the war has already ended.”

Anakin chose to ignore that statement. “Wait for me until I return,” he told her as his flesh hand came to rest gently on her cheek. “Things will be different, I promise.”

She could make no promises of her own. She simply nodded vaguely and continued to stare at the horizon, long after his hand had left her face and he had flown away.

Padmé could not shake the feeling that he did not deserve her promises.

***

The white hallway seemed too parched, too colourless, too neat and tidy to contain all of Obi-Wan’s feelings. He strode along with the proper amounts of reserve and decorum, just barely keeping the roiling emotions inside of him at bay. Master Yoda was looking up at him, and Bail Organa was at his side, and both would expect that sort of discipline. A significant part of him could not disappoint.

But another part, the part which had been schooled by Padmé, knew what it was like to feel panic, fright, sadness, and it was a battle to keep that part from running away with him.

“You were attacked by your clones also?” Obi-Wan said, prying his lips apart to answer Yoda’s last statement.

The Jedi Master nodded. “With the help of the Wookiees, barely escape, I did.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. If Master Yoda says he barely escaped, it must have been awful! “How many other Jedi managed to survive?”

“Heard from no one, have we.” Yoda’s ears flattened against his head.

“I saw thousands of troops attack the Jedi Temple,” Bail Organa added. “That’s why I went looking for Yoda.”

“Have we had any contact from the Temple?” Obi-Wan asked, while his mind screamed Anakin!

“Received a coded retreat message, we have,” Yoda said.

Bail nodded. “It requests all Jedi to return to the Temple. It says the war is over.”

“Well, then we must go back!” exclaimed Obi-Wan. “If there are other stragglers, they will fall into the trap and be killed!”

They had reached the cockpit by then. Bail took the copilot’s chair and Yoda swung himself up in the one behind, leaving Obi-Wan to settle by the navigational computer.

“It’s too dangerous to return,” Bail was saying. “The only reason I was able to depart the planet was because the clones guarding the Senate Office building had not yet received their orders. I’ve no doubt that will have changed by now.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but that is an obstacle that can be easily overcome,” Obi-Wan replied. He hesitated, then decided there was nothing for it. “I will admit that my reasoning for returning to Coruscant is somewhat … personal.”

The Alderaanian Senator nodded understanding. “Padmé. She will be worried sick, of course.”

“Yes, and Anakin too.” Obi-Wan ran his hands over his face, pausing briefly to rub the fog of fatigue from his eyes. He then turned to Yoda. “Master, I have been – remiss in not keeping you informed of certain matters, and with circumstances being as they currently are I suppose I can only beg your forgiveness.”

Yoda nodded once. “Proceed.”

Obi-Wan was suddenly forcibly reminded of when he had visited his Master at the Temple three years ago, to tell him of Padmé’s first pregnancy. But then, of course, he had not been surrounded by others as well.

He hoped the pilot wasn’t listening too intently.

“As you know, Senator Amidala and I have been in a relationship, with the tacit approval of the Jedi Council, for around two years now,” Obi-Wan began. “You may also recall that before Anakin and I left to pursue Ventress, approximately eight months ago now, I put in for leave. Padmé and I spent some time on Naboo together before I was unexpectedly called away to the Outer Rim. When we landed back on Coruscant and I went to visit her, she informed me she was pregnant.”

The effect on the diminutive Jedi Master was electrifying. He suddenly sat forward on his chair, so much that he was in danger of toppling off, and his ears bent as far forward as they would go. Eyes wide, he nodded. “Continue, please.”

Slightly wrong-footed by his Master’s reaction, Obi-Wan went on. “I decided then that the time had come to learn from my past mistakes. We both felt that the Force had given us another chance and that we would be most wise to accept it. So … I asked her if she would marry me, and I declared my intention to her of leaving the Jedi Order once the war had ended. I apologize once again for my duplicity, Master; I had been planning to tell you. But with events being what they were, there was simply no appropriate time. As well, I had the feelings of Anakin to consider. I knew then, as I do now, that my decision would hurt him.”

“Understood and forgiven this is,” Yoda said after a long pause. “Ordinarily, for such actions, discipline there might be, but in such times as these, consider that we cannot. Returning to the Temple, of utmost importance it is. Before, suggested dismantling the coded signal, did you?”

Obi-Wan swallowed, forced his mind away from Padmé and his worries. “Yes, Master. There is too much at stake here, and we need a clearer picture of what has happened.”

Yoda nodded. “I agree. In a dark place we find ourselves … a little more knowledge might light our way.”

There was a sudden beep from the console, and the pilot reached over to punch a glowing button. “We are receiving a message from the Chancellor’s office, sir,” he said, addressing Bail.

“Send it through,” Bail told him.

The blue form of Mas Amedda appeared on the screen, and both Yoda and Obi-Wan instinctively sat back. “Senator Organa, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic requests your presence at a special session of Congress,” Amedda said.

“Tell the Chancellor I will be there,” replied Bail.

“Very well. He will be expecting you.”

Bail turned back to the Jedi as Amedda’s image winked out. “It could be a trap,” he said thoughtfully.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I don’t think so. The Chancellor will not be able to control the thousands of star systems without keeping the Senate intact.”

“If a special session of Congress there is, easier for us to enter the Jedi Temple it will be,” Yoda put in.

Obi-Wan thought of Padmé once more, and though he was anxious to get to the Temple, he knew where his first priority must be. He ached to hold her, to feel the weight of her in his arms.

“With respect, Master, there is somewhere I should like to stop first …”

***

Padmé breathed deeply, facing the mirror.

She had to relax. Had to keep control. Even when control seemed impossible, even when her heart seemed to have lodged permanently in her throat and her breath came in short, frightened gasps. But what good would it do to panic? Yes, the reports from the Chancellor’s office had grown increasingly dire where the Jedi were concerned. Yes, Anakin had behaved very strangely, not like himself at all, and had even scared her. Yes, she had no idea where Obi-Wan was. No idea even if he was alive.

That thought made her stop, made her clasp a hand to her mouth to keep in the emotion. She had cried so much the previous evening that she was surprised there was even an ounce of liquid still left in her body, but she could now feel more wetness fogging her eyes. She swiped at them desperately, trying to breathe deeply again.

Padmé hadn’t slept at all, being unable to return to her bed with the bright glow of the Jedi Temple’s fire in her windows. She was therefore exhausted now, but knew there was no way she could rest. She was too frightened and worried and her mood was affecting the babies, who were as restless inside her as she felt. But Mas Amedda had contacted her shortly after she’d choked down a meager breakfast, requesting her attendance at a special Senate session to begin that morning. So she was in her bedroom, dressing with the assistance of her handmaidens, her mind as far away from politics as it was possible to be.

“Are you all right, m’lady?” Ellé asked gently as she secured Padmé’s headpiece.

“I’m fine, Ellé, thank you,” Padmé said, twisting her face into a smile. “I’m just worried. That’s all.”

“Of course. These are very trying times for all of us.” The handmaiden gave her employer’s outfit a final pat and attempted a smile of her own. “You are ready.”

Padmé bit her lip, questions about Obi-Wan and whether there had been any further news on the tip of her tongue. But before she could ask any of them, before she could even open her mouth to speak, Motée appeared in the doorway, panting for breath.

“M’lady!” she gasped. “I came as soon as I could – a Jedi speeder has docked on your veranda and Master Kenobi is aboard!”

Padmé was running from her bedroom almost before the handmaiden had finished her announcement. She took the stairs to her lower level two at a time, not caring if she tripped, her mind only on the man below and the possibility that all the fear and worry might have been for nothing …

She reached the bottom of the stairs and stood still, clasping the railing in a death grip, her eyes searching the veranda. Motée had spoken the truth: Obi-Wan was there, watching the stairway anxiously, and as soon as he caught a glimpse of her flying down to meet him, his arms opened.

Padmé rushed wordlessly into them, wrapping her hands around his back and pressing her face into the front of his robes. He clutched her tightly, desperately, and in that instant she understood just how frightened he too had been.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. It might have been minutes, hours, even days. But finally she could believe he was all right. Finally she could believe he was home.

“I – I thought – I thought you were dead,” Padmé whispered. Her voice shook.

Obi-Wan captured her lips in a kiss, a kiss that was at turns desperate and full of reassurance. “I’m fine. I promise you. I’m only sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

“No, no, it’s okay, I understand.” She gazed into his blue eyes and discovered she still knew how to smile. “It’s just … I’m not sure how much you know about what’s been going on, but the Jedi Temple was on fire last night and the Chancellor’s office issued a press release talking about a rebellion. Palpatine has called a special session of Congress for today, I was just about to leave to attend it.”

Obi-Wan’s features tightened. “Senator Organa picked up Yoda and I, he told us about the fire. I hadn’t heard that Palpatine said it was a rebellion.”

Padmé nodded grimly. “I’m sure it’s all propaganda, and I didn’t believe a word of it. But I don’t understand why it would work to the Chancellor’s advantage to portray it this way.”

“Nor do I,” Obi-Wan replied. “But Master Yoda and I are going to try and find out. Senator Organa is going to take us to the Temple.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?” she asked. “Last I heard the clones were still guarding it, and they’re not letting anyone through without priority clearance.”

He touched her face softly, then slid his hand lower to her abdomen, feeling the babies kick. “We’ll be fine. The Temple is our ground, we know it very well. Are you sure you’ll be safe?”

It was Padmé’s turn to stroke his cheek. “I’ll be all right, darling, I promise.” The use of the endearment made him smile. “Captain Typho and a full complement of guards will accompany me. Besides, it will be more suspicious if I don’t turn up at the Senate than if I do. Palpatine has been alerted to the presence or absence of each Senator; his aides have contacted us personally. And I …” She suddenly couldn’t look him in the eye. “I think he knows. About us.”

Obi-Wan stiffened. “How?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Padmé said firmly. “But it’s a possibility we need to be aware of. Anakin came to see me last night and … I’m honestly not sure how much he told him. You know how close they are.”

“Anakin is alive?” He seemed to sag with relief before her very eyes.

“Yes, he is, but … he’s different, Obi-Wan. I don’t know, I can’t explain. But he scared me. He was different and it scared me.”

“And where is he now?”

“He said the Chancellor had sent him on a very important mission,” Padmé recalled. “He said he was going to Mustafar, to end the war.”

“Mustafar?” Obi-Wan blinked, ran a hand over his face. He seemed to be doing some very quick thinking. “Right. Padmé, I want you to listen carefully. Go to the Senate, keep up appearances, do everything else you need to do. But once the session is over, come directly back to your apartment. Set your security to full alert and wait for me here, do you understand? Don’t let anyone in. Just wait for me. I will come back for you, I promise. Is that clear?”

Padmé was unaccustomed to him giving her orders, but she knew this was a special circumstance. “Of course.” She embraced him once more. “Be careful, darling. Please be careful.”

“I will.” He kissed her, long and deep and intimately, seeming to say everything he could not express in words, and then gazed at her so intently that it was as though he was attempting to memorize her face. “I love you,” Obi-Wan said fervently.

She fell into his arms. One last hug. “I love you too. And I’ll be waiting for you when you come back.”

They parted, each to their separate unknowns.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Beginnings of Darkness

The Jedi Temple was silent.

This was so utterly strange to Obi-Wan that if he hadn’t known better, he would have assumed he was dreaming. But no: what he faced was reality, a harsh, quiet reality but a reality nonetheless.

After the initial surge of adrenaline created in being dropped near the Temple by Bail Organa, and battling through the clone guards outside, Obi-Wan found himself bizarrely jittery as he walked up the steps and through the front entrance with Yoda. The silence was a contributing factor. It reverberated around the large hall, leaked into corners and whispered to the Jedi of trespassers and those trespassed upon. It reminded them that on any ordinary day, this hall should be filled with initiates and Knights heading to classes, discussing lightsaber techniques and holding philosophical debates in secluded alcoves. Now it was just … empty. Devoid of life, and absent of the comforting eddies of the Force that commonly pervaded it.

They moved silently through the building, avoiding and mind-tricking clone troopers when needed. Both Jedi were loathe to employ their lightsabers; the presence of bodies or the absence of the soldiers would surely be noted and investigated. The clones were nothing if not thorough, after all, and time was of the utmost importance.

Obi-Wan tried to ignore the dead Jedi he and Yoda occasionally stumbled upon. The enormity of the situation was too large for the impact to settle fully on his shoulders, and although he grieved for his friends and colleagues, any such sadness was quickly released into the Force. It had to be this way. He would feel the grief later, he told himself. Later. It was the Jedi way.

Then they came to the hallway outside the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and Obi-Wan’s carefully-constructed universe fell apart.

Scattered before the Jedi were approximately twenty bodies, sprawled brokenly on the stone floor. The tallest might have reached Obi-Wan’s waist.

“Not even the younglings survived,” he heard himself say, although he couldn’t remember drawing a breath to speak.

Yoda was bent over, examining the tiniest child. “Killed not by clones, this Padawan. By a lightsaber he was.”

It was the closest thing to emotion Obi-Wan had ever heard from his Master and it unclenched something inside him. He took a breath, tried to swallow the tears suddenly clogging his throat.

“Who …?” he whispered as he knelt. Sidious? But surely he wouldn’t dare enter the Temple … “Who could have done this?”

Yoda shook his head in answer, gently thumbing the child’s eyes closed.

“We took them from their homes,” Obi-Wan choked, “we promised their families …”

In his mind’s eye he could see a boy, sprawled and broken like the others, familiar blue eyes open and staring. His hair slightly tousled, one hand reaching in supplication towards a girl with Padmé’s brown hair and hazel eyes –

His breath became ragged and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fists into them and willing himself to forget, reminding himself that it hadn’t happened, but still, it was not difficult to imagine Padmé at Varykino, staring up at the stars, wondering what had become of the children she had bequeathed to the Jedi Order …

“Control yourself, you must; still Jedi, you are!” Yoda rapped him sharply on the knee with his gimer stick and began to walk onwards.

Obi-Wan drew a shaky breath, standing up to follow. “Yes, Master Yoda. Yes, we are Jedi. But what if we’re the last?”

“If the last we are, unchanged our duty is,” Yoda said firmly. “While one Jedi lives, survive the Order does. And forget not: within Senator Amidala, a hope resides yet. Strong in the Force your child will be.”

Now Obi-Wan understood his Master’s reaction when he had told him of Padmé’s pregnancy. Had Yoda anticipated what they might find in the Temple? The aged Jedi’s skill in divining the future was matched by few, so it was possible. “Was that why you persuaded the Council to allow our relationship? You knew what was going to happen?”

Yoda shook his head. “Impossible to see, the future is. Feelings, senses, all I had were those, and rely fully on them I could not. But trust them, I could. Drew you together, the Force did, and interfere I dared not.”

“And now it has rewarded us with an opening,” Obi-Wan completed.

“Indeed. A hope, we still have.”

***

Padmé sat mutely in her Senate pod, waiting, watching, hoping. Around her, Typho, her handmaidens and even the usually jovial Jar Jar all mirrored her expression: one of concern and at times, barely concealed fear. The atmosphere in the Senate was not at all what she had expected. Instead of the open outrage against Palpatine’s condemnation of the Jedi, there was acceptance, even celebration. She’d heard much anger directed at the Order while walking the halls of the building on the way to the Naboo pod, and had needed to bite down on her tongue several times to prevent herself from launching a rebuttal at the offending Senators. There did not seem to be a reason for the sudden change in public opinion.

Then again, fear can be a powerful ally, if it’s used properly, Padmé thought as her eyes picked out the Red Guards and clone troopers positioned strategically around the Grand Convocation Chamber.

She started at a touch on her shoulder, and looked up to see Bail Organa standing over her. He bent, on the pretense of picking up a data reader from the floor, and whispered in her ear, “They’re inside safely.”

“Thank you,” she whispered back, feeling a little of the tension leave her body. It was only a very little, but it helped nonetheless. She didn’t realize how worried she had been about Obi-Wan until that worry no longer had a basis in fact.

“What’s happening?” Bail asked, louder now, as he seated himself next to her.

“The Chancellor has been elaborating on a plot by the Jedi to overthrow the Senate,” Padmé told him.

“It’s a lie! You can’t possibly believe any of that!”

“He’s been presenting evidence all afternoon,” she replied tonelessly.

From the podium Palpatine thundered, “This has been the most trying of times, but we have passed the test. The war is over! The Separatists have been utterly defeated, and the Republic will stand! United! United and free!”

The Senate broke into cheers and applause.

“The Jedi Rebellion was our final test – it was the last gasp of the forces of darkness!” the Chancellor continued. “Now we have left that darkness behind us forever, and a new day has begun! It is morning in the Republic!”

The Senators roared even louder.

“Here it comes,” Padmé murmured, biting her lip.

“Here what comes?” Bail asked.

“You’ll see.”

“Never again will we be divided!” Palpatine shouted. “Never again will sector turn against sector, planet turn against planet, sibling turn against sibling! We are one nation, indivisible! And to ensure that we will always stand together, that we will always speak with a single voice and act with a single hand, the Republic must change. It must evolve. It must grow. We have become an empire in fact; let us become an Empire in name as well! We are the first Galactic Empire!”

The Senate had not stopped cheering, but at this the roar of excitement became yet louder. It was not unlike being inside some monstrous sports stadium, where the event on offer was meeting with the approval of everyone in the galaxy. Senators were getting to their feet, waving arms and various other appendages in the air, clapping and stomping and yelling their excitement.

“We are an Empire ruled by the majority!” Palpatine screamed. “An Empire ruled by a new Constitution and a single sovereign, chosen for life! An Empire of laws, not of politicians! An Empire devoted to the preservation of a just society. Of a safe and secure society! We are an Empire that will stand ten thousand years!”

Padmé clasped a hand to her mouth. She wanted to stuff her fists in her ears, to pinch herself and wake up to find this was all some terrible nightmare, but she knew that would not happen.

“We will celebrate the anniversary of this day as Empire Day!” Palpatine bellowed. “For the sake of our children. For our children’s children! For the next ten thousand years! Safety! Security! Justice and peace!”

Padmé thought of the babies, and felt sick. Was this the sort of galaxy into which she would bring her sons or daughters? “So this is how liberty dies: with thunderous applause,” she remarked bitterly to Bail.

“We can’t let this happen!” he insisted. “I have to get to my pod – we can still enter a motion –”

“No,” Padmé interrupted, fastening her fingers around his arm in an iron grip. “No, Bail, you can’t enter a motion. You can’t. Fang Zar has already been arrested, and Tundra Dowmeia, and it won’t be long until the entire Delegation of the Two Thousand are declared enemies of the state. You see those clone troopers in the entryways? They are there to cart off anyone who dares to disagree. You didn’t sign the petition for good reason. Don’t make Palpatine add your name by what you do today.”

All the colour had drained from Bail’s face. “But I can’t just sit here and watch –”

“You’re right,” Padmé said. “You can’t just watch. You have to vote for him.”

“What?” he squeaked.

“Bail, it’s the only way,” she replied with much more calm than she felt. “It’s the only hope you have of remaining in a position to do anyone any good. Vote for Palpatine. Vote for the Empire. Make Mon Mothma vote for him, too. Appeal to her as a parent if you have to, remind her that Lily will be put in danger if she doesn’t obey. That is the state of things right now, do you understand? Be good little Senators. Mind your manners and keep your heads down. And keep doing … all those things we can’t talk about. All those things I can’t know. Promise me, Bail.”

“Padmé, what you’re talking about – what we’re not talking about – it could take twenty years! Are you under suspicion, because of Obi-Wan? What are you going to do?”

Padmé looked towards the podium. Palpatine’s arms were raised, raking in the cheers and the applause. She thought of Obi-Wan in the Temple, Anakin on Mustafar, his nightmare, her wish to give birth on Naboo. Her stomach tightened uncomfortably.

“Don’t worry about me,” she whispered. “I don’t know I’ll live that long.”

***

At the same time the Republic became an Empire, Obi-Wan stood in the Temple’s computer room, flipping switches and altering codes. At a small sound in the doorway he jerked his head up, only to see Yoda.

“I’ve recalibrated the code,” Obi-Wan said, shutting a panel and making his way over to his Master. “It now warns all surviving Jedi to stay away.”

Yoda nodded. “Good. For the clones to discover the recalibration, a long time it will take. To change it back, longer still.” He clasped his fingers over his gimer stick, then reached into the pocket of his robes. “Come here. Something for you, I have.”

Obi-Wan blinked, extending his hand to accept a small box. “What –”

The question stuttered to a halt as he opened the box. Inside was a long braid of blond hair, a lightsaber, and a packet of flimsiplasts. He recognized the Padawan’s braid and the lightsaber immediately; they belonged to Anakin and Qui-Gon respectively. But the flimsiplasts … Obi-Wan flipped them over and saw Padmé’s neat writing.

Instantly he was transported back through the years, to a time when waiting for one of these missives was the highlight of his day, when reading the letters she sent him was sometimes the only way he could escape from the rigors of his duties and from the difficulties of training an apprentice, when he used to curl up in an armchair in his quarters when Anakin was in class and just read them, over and over, never realizing that in doing so he had begun to fall in love. The flimsiplast was slightly wrinkled at the edges, and it smelled of smoke, but the words themselves were undamaged. They stood out, black against white, a comfort in every sense of the word.

Slowly Obi-Wan reached into his pocket and drew out another page, this one much more crumpled and with many signs of use, but covered in the same tidy writing as the others. This was the letter Padmé had written before she went with Anakin to Naboo. He’d kept it with him, through all his missions in the Clone Wars, switching it around depending on which robes he wore, because it too gave him comfort. He hardly needed it anymore, having memorized its contents long ago, but it was a tangible reminder of the woman he loved, and so he kept it.

Taking as much care as if he were handling something precious – because indeed he was – he tucked the letter in with its fellows and gave the small bundle a final pat before replacing the lid on the box. Looking up, he could see Yoda watching him closely.

“Thank you, Master,” Obi-Wan said softly. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Returning here, we will not be,” Yoda replied. “Thought I did that wanted these items would be.”

“But – Jedi aren’t supposed to covet material things …”

“Attachment to another being the Code also prohibits, but follow this rule you did not, hmm?” There seemed to be a distinct twinkle of amusement in the aged Master’s eye.

Obi-Wan allowed himself a small smile. “That’s true, I suppose. But thank you again.”

Yoda nodded once, turning to leave.

“Wait, Master!” Obi-Wan was moving towards another computer console. “There is something I must know.”

“If into the security recordings you go, only pain will you find,” Yoda warned sharply.

Obi-Wan’s grip on the box tightened, but he did not retreat. “I must know the truth, Master.”

Skillfully he pressed several buttons on one of the wall panels, then turned to the holoprojector. A blue image scanned itself into life, an image of a figure in a hood and cloak using a lightsaber to cut down screaming children, one by one.

The figure turned, kneeling before a shadow.

Obi-Wan would remember that moment for the rest of his life. It would haunt him in nightmares, in waking, taunting him with pain so raw as to be nearly physical, pain sharp and unforgiving. The projection of his apprentice, his sparring partner, his right hand, his best friend, kneeling before Chancellor Palpatine and announcing, “The traitors have been taken care of, Lord Sidious.”

“It can’t be,” Obi-Wan whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself to forget the image that was now irrevocably burned into him, as surely as if Anakin had bisected him with his lightsaber.

“Good … good,” said Sidious with relish. “You have done well, my new apprentice. Do you feel your power growing?”

“Yes, my Master,” Anakin replied.

“Now, Lord Vader, go and bring peace to the Empire,” Sidious ordered.

“I can’t watch any more,” Obi-Wan gasped, fumbling with the controls and managing to shut down the holoprojector. He sank down, back against the pedestal, head against his knees, clutching the box and pressing it to his forehead as though willing it to absorb all of the unpleasant memories. Tears stung his eyes, tears that had been lingering there since he and Yoda discovered the dead children in the hallway. And now, finally, he felt he had a reason to allow them to fall.

So he did.

They dropped onto the box, one by one, and for once he did not care. For once he did not try to stifle the emotions, release them into the Force or deny that they existed. He could remember only two other times in his life when he had let sadness take over like this, and ironically both of them were represented in the box which was now absorbing his tears and his pain. Qui-Gon’s death, and Padmé’s miscarriage. And he remembered those, and wondered if the galaxy would have been better off if he’d never been Qui-Gon’s apprentice, or Padmé’s lover, or indeed a Jedi at all. Perhaps the Force would have preferred it if he’d never been born.

Yoda, who had been silently holding his own meeting with the devil, now spoke. “Destroy the Sith, we must,” he said with conviction.

Obi-Wan finally looked up, still with a death grip on the box. “Send me to kill the Emperor,” he said raggedly. “I will not kill Anakin.”

“To fight this Lord Sidious, strong enough, you are not,” Yoda replied gently.

Again the images flooded back. “He is like my brother. I cannot do it.”

Yoda shook his head regretfully. “Twisted by the dark side young Skywalker has become. The boy you trained, gone he is … consumed by Darth Vader.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against a sudden influx of memories of a young Anakin, using him as a substitute for the mother he’d left behind on Tatooine, pestering him to describe the various forms of lightsaber combat, asking questions about Padmé. “How could it have come to this?” he whispered.

“To question, no time there is.”

Obi-Wan thought about pretending that he did not know where Anakin had been sent, but knew Yoda would see through that ruse instantly. The aged Jedi Master knew he’d been to visit Padmé before they came to the Temple, and he also knew that Obi-Wan had questioned her about Anakin. Yoda would never believe that Padmé had not divulged that information. Besides, any excuse that Obi-Wan could conjure would just be a delay on an inevitable path, a path he had been unwittingly walking ever since he met his best friend. Perhaps, ever since the universe was created.

He leaned back against the console, closed his eyes once more, felt the weight of the box in his hands. There was only one place Obi-Wan knew he could find true comfort, and he also knew that he would need as much of it as she could give.

***

Padmé was resting in bed when C-3PO woke her and informed her she had a visitor. She threw on a robe and hurried down the stairs as before, tying the soft belt in place as she walked.

On her veranda stood Obi-Wan, and he looked … broken. There was an expression on his face that she had only directly witnessed twice, and both of those times he’d been grappling with intense grief. She took a deep breath, and silently prayed to her goddesses that she could help him.

He didn’t say a word as she approached, just enfolded her in a firm embrace and held her for a long while. Padmé let him, silently running her hands up and down his back and pressing soft kisses to his neck. He seemed to be shaking a little.

“Are you all right?” she finally whispered.

“The Republic has fallen,” he said hollowly. “Padmé … the Jedi Order is no more.”

She thought of Palpatine’s speech in the Senate that morning and bit her lip. “I know. It’s hard to believe that everything to which we’ve dedicated our lives is gone.”

Obi-Wan pressed his hands to her abdomen and seemed to recover a bit of calm. “I believe we have been part of a plot hundreds of years in the making.”

“But the Senate is still intact,” Padmé pointed out. “Palpatine won’t be able to keep all the planetary systems in line without its support, at least in the short term. And while the Senate survives, there is some hope.”

He shook his head. “No, darling … it’s over. The Sith now rule the galaxy as they did before the Republic.”

She gazed at him incredulously. “The Sith?”

“You – you told me you last saw Anakin last night, and that he had gone to Mustafar,” Obi-Wan said. The haunted look had returned to his face. Or maybe it never left.

“Well – yes,” Padmé replied, wrongfooted by the sudden change in topic. “He said the Chancellor … Emperor now, I suppose … had given him an important mission, that the Separatists were sequestered there and that he was going to end the war.”

“Emperor.” Obi-Wan spat the word as though it tasted vile. “Padmé, Anakin is in grave danger.”

“From the Sith?” Surely that was nothing Anakin couldn’t handle, given his heroics in the war and the apparent ease with which he had dispatched Count Dooku …

“From himself. Darling, he … Anakin has turned to the dark side.” Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut; apparently the very admission was causing him intense pain.

Padmé took an involuntary step backwards. His hands slid away, and he stared at her pleadingly. “You’re wrong,” was all she could think to reply, and she knew she sounded angry but did not care. “How could you even say that?”

Obi-Wan turned away, and she saw him clasp a hand to his mouth. Tears welled in his eyes. “I have seen a security hologram of him … killing younglings,” he whispered.

Denials sprang to her tongue, defenses of Anakin and excuses for the security footage – perhaps it had been tampered with, perhaps someone wanted to make the Jedi believe her friend had turned evil – but another image was pushing itself to the surface, an image of Anakin crouched in a garage on Tatooine, wetness streaking his cheeks, and his admission …

I killed them. I killed them all. Not just the men, but the women, and the children … they’re animals, and I slaughtered them like animals …

Pain grasped her, and her legs gave way until she was sitting on one of her couches, staring vacantly into space. She had known then, she had been privy to what he was capable of, and yet she had told no one … not Obi-Wan, not any of the Jedi, no one who might have stepped in and taken action … instead, she had comforted him. Told him that he needed to say something to Obi-Wan, but nothing beyond that, nothing to make sure that he actually did so – in fact, they’d never spoken of the incident again. How could she have kept it a secret? How could she have willfully disregarded what a potential threat he posed? And now children were dead, the whole Jedi Order was betrayed, because of her …

They’re animals, and I slaughtered them like animals …

Padmé could not stop the sob that burst from her.

In an instant Obi-Wan was beside her, his own grief forgotten for the moment as he pulled her into a tight embrace. “Darling, it’s all right,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “It’s going to be all right.”

“No,” she gasped, fighting back nausea, “no, you don’t understand, it’s my fault, all of it!” Briefly Padmé told him of the events on Tatooine, of Shmi’s kidnapping and subsequent death, and the terrible revenge Anakin had exacted upon the Tusken Raiders. “If only I’d told you, you could have done something, you could have talked to him …”

“Padmé, no,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “None of this is your fault and I don’t want you to feel that you should take responsibility. Anakin chose his own path. He made his own decisions; no one could make them for him. You told him that he should tell myself and the Council what had happened and he could have, but he never did.”

“But the clues were there!” Padmé insisted. “They were there and I ignored them!”

“In this case he was deceived by a lie. We all were. It appears that the Chancellor is behind everything, including the war. Palpatine is the Sith Lord we’ve been looking for. After the death of Count Dooku, Anakin became his new apprentice.”

Palpatine a Sith? She blinked, trying to absorb this new information. It would certainly explain why the new Emperor had immediately tried to paint the fire at the Temple as a Jedi rebellion that needed to be “dealt with.” Not to mention the fact that Jedi were now outlawed in every system and associating with them was a capital crime, punishable by execution without trial. Padmé knew that the Sith and Jedi had been mortal enemies since nearly the beginning of time, though she was ignorant of most of the other history between the two sects. But she understood enough to believe Obi-Wan, and to realize that her belief would be immensely important to him.

“What are we going to do, darling?” she whispered into his robes.

His grip tightened around her. “I – I’ve got to go to Mustafar.”

Padmé drew in a sharp breath. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

“He has become a very great threat.” The shaking had started again.

“Obi-Wan, wait.” She pulled away and looked him in the eye. “What if I came with you? I could talk to him. There must still be a little of the old Anakin left, I’m sure of it. If I could reach him, turn him back –”

Obi-Wan was shaking his head before she’d even finished speaking. “No, no, we simply can’t risk it. Once one starts down the dark path, it will always colour one’s destiny. He is dangerous now. We cannot trust him.”

“Ani is my friend,” Padmé cried. “One of my best friends. He has loved me since he was a small boy. He wouldn’t hurt me. I don’t think he could. He was so afraid of my death, after he began having those nightmares. Why would he do something to deliberately cause me harm?”

“I don’t know, Padmé. I don’t know.” Obi-Wan looked helpless. “All I do know is that Anakin is a Sith now. He – he is called Darth Vader. He showed no mercy at the Temple and he has probably shown little with the Separatist Council. He may not even recognize you.”

“Of course he will,” she replied. “I know I can reach him, I just need to be allowed to try. Please, Obi-Wan.”

He darted forwards and hugged her again. “I can’t,” he murmured against her shoulder. “I can’t. You – for all intents and purposes you may as well be my wife, Padmé, and you are pregnant with my children. I couldn’t – I couldn’t sacrifice you like that. Or the twins.”

“I’m not asking you to. You have a chance to get him back, Obi-Wan. Don’t you want that? If I were you I’d seize every chance I had.”

“But not at the expense of someone I know I haven’t lost,” Obi-Wan said desperately.

“You don’t know you’ve lost Anakin, either,” Padmé objected. “All you’ve seen is security footage and Palpatine’s words. You haven’t spoken to him since you left Coruscant for Utapau. I have. I know he’s still in there. The dark side can’t have driven Anakin from Vader completely. And if Ani is alive in Vader, I can reach him. I promise you.”

“If you can’t –”

She let go of him, affixing him with her politician’s stare. “I don’t need your permission, Obi-Wan. I can easily call up Captain Typho and tell him to ready my skiff.”

“And I can just as easily belay that order if it poses a threat to your personal safety, which it most certainly does,” he shot back.

Padmé crossed her arms. “Well, what are we going to do, then? We could sit here and debate this forever, but one of us has to concede eventually. And it isn’t going to be me. There’s good in him. I know there is still good in Anakin.”

“Padmé …” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked, and suddenly all her anger floated away just as quickly as it had built up. “You know very well that if the Force wills you to die as in Anakin’s visions, I will let you go. I will not set myself against the inevitable. But to sacrifice you so that a Sith Lord could add you to his list of cold-blooded murders is something I cannot abide. It is something I will not abide.”

“I know.” She clasped his hand, squeezing lightly. “I’m not asking you to. And I promise I’ll be careful. I just need you to trust me.”

Obi-Wan squeezed back, ran a tired hand over his face. After a pause he said, “I trust you. And I will take you with me.”

“Thank you,” Padmé said softly.

“On two conditions,” he said firmly. “One, that you stick close to me. And two, that you do everything I tell you, precisely when I tell you. If I tell you to withdraw, you will do so. If I tell you that it is too dangerous to continue, you will immediately stop. If I tell you to go back to the ship and not to try and defend me, you will do precisely that.”

She didn’t like the idea of leaving him to face a Sith Lord alone, but she could also recognize that she would be of little help if the encounter went sour. Padmé also knew that it was very important to Obi-Wan that she be in as little danger as possible.

“I understand.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan reached inside his robes, fingering a small box protectively. “Then I suppose you should call your skiff.”

Padmé had begun to rise from the couch, but stopped when she saw the box. “What’s that?”

“Just a few things Yoda collected from my quarters before we left the Temple,” he explained. “Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, Anakin’s Padawan braid …”

Obi-Wan opened the box.

“… and your letters.”

She sat back down. “My letters?”

“Every single one you’ve written me.”

Padmé reached for the box, and he wordlessly relinquished it. She sorted through, saw the braid and the saber and a packet of flimsiplasts. Flipping them over, her eyes fell on neat lines of handwriting, handwriting she recognized as uniquely hers. “You kept them … all of them,” she breathed.

“I couldn’t let them go,” Obi-Wan replied, and she thought he looked a little guilty.

“Wait right here,” Padmé said, and depositing the box on the couch, she hurried to the far side of the veranda and up the stairs. She was gone only a few moments, and returned fully dressed and clutching a packet of her own. Her pregnancy was even more prominent in the outfit she had chosen – a pair of leggings and a long shirt secured by a harness – and she knew Obi-Wan had noticed by the expression on his face. It was the first true smile he’d worn since he arrived.

“What’s that?” he asked, indicating her packet.

“Your letters,” she replied. And she tucked them into the box, nestled securely over those she had written.

His smile grew wider, and he reached out and gently stroked her cheek. “You are … so beautiful. And I love you. Never forget that.”

Padmé kissed him then, a kiss meant to convey her reassurance and her confidence and above all, her love. It said everything she felt she could not express in words, and from the look on his face, Obi-Wan knew.

“I love you too,” she whispered against his lips. “Never forget that.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Hellfire

Across the galaxy, there were many cultures and groups of beings that believed in the idea of an afterlife. Such an idea was different for almost every one – some thought it was a place in which those who had led virtuous lives were invited to spend eternity; others believed it might merely be an extension of the existence they already knew; and still others saw the afterlife as a series of interconnected worlds into which one could pass as easily as stepping through a curtain.

And for most cultures, there was a counterpart to this idyllic utopia. They called it by different names and it took different forms depending upon the religion – or lack thereof – to which the culture subscribed. But almost all of those beings, if taken to the planet Mustafar, would have uttered whatever the word was in their language used for the counterpart to utopia: hell.

Darth Vader would not.

Mustafar was not Vader’s hell. It was his birthplace. He had risen to answer a need within Anakin Skywalker and he quickly overwhelmed the young man. Vader laughed at this prospect. The potential had always been there inside Anakin, potential he refused to recognize because he was terrified of its consequences. As well he should be, Vader thought. No such fears would exist within him. He was fear, and in being so he could master it. He could control it, in a way Anakin’s Jedi teachings had never managed. He could grab his fear and turn it over and toss it on the ground and crush it beneath his boot. The dragon that had taunted him so many nights as he lay awake, Padmé’s screams and the whitewashed walls of the birthing chamber parading across his eyelids whenever he squeezed them shut, had been strangled. Crushed, scattered to the four winds, never to be seen again.

Vader was fear. Therefore it seemed only natural that he should conquer it.

His lips curled into a cruel smile as he thought of Padmé. Inasmuch as Mustafar was Vader’s birthplace, it would also be the birthplace of the life he should have had. The life that the Force had promised him at the age of nine, and the life that Obi-Wan Kenobi had so brutally stolen away. Were it not for Obi-Wan, and Padmé’s love for him, she would have belonged to Anakin. He could have married her, as he had seen himself doing, and the three years of happiness snatched between battles could have been with him. The children growing inside her could have been his children. If not for Obi-Wan’s interference, Anakin could have shown Padmé what true love was like.

Well, Kenobi would lose that. All of that, beginning today.

Vader was quite sure – and the Emperor had concurred – that if Obi-Wan survived the Purge, he would seek him out. It wouldn’t matter if he was dead, of course: Vader could still conjure Anakin, return to Coruscant as he had promised, and offer himself to Padmé as a viable alternative to the man she had adored. He knew she loved Anakin, after all; she had said as much many times. And love for a friend could so easily blossom into romantic love. That was, after all, how she had grown to love Kenobi. Once Vader had extracted the secret of eternal life from Sidious, it would be a matter of abject simplicity to kill him and assume the Emperorship himself. He would then have Padmé to rule at his side, and the added promise of an entire dynasty of Skywalkers through which the family lineage and power could be passed. A pure lineage, unlike that of the twins, whose genetic structure would already have been contaminated. No: the children he would sire with Padmé would be the ones to whom the Empire would revert.

Of course, if Kenobi was still alive, matters would be more complicated, but that would make Vader’s victory all the more pleasing. He marveled at the satisfaction it would give him to hold the fact of a dual betrayal – his and Padmé’s – over Kenobi just before he killed him. His former Master would die knowing not only that Anakin Skywalker had turned his back on the Jedi Order, but that Padmé no longer loved him. If Vader had not been so intent upon killing Kenobi for his sins, he might have employed the opportunity to turn him to the dark side. But the need for revenge far outweighed that particular concern.

And revenge, when it came, would be exceedingly sweet.

A sudden beep from the console drew Vader’s attention. It wasn’t the comlink; he had spoken with Palpatine just a few moments ago. No: curiously enough, the lava mining facility’s proximity indicator was beeping. He peered at the screen and saw a small skiff approaching the landing platform. It had the colouring and chrome plating of a Nubian craft.

He summoned Anakin Skywalker, and smiled again. Padmé’s arrival was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Now he would begin rebuilding his life.

***

“Lovely place for a picnic,” Obi-Wan murmured.

Padmé’s eyes slid sideways to the pilot’s seat. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head and began to calibrate the controls for landing.

She bit her lip, thinking hard. Obi-Wan had been almost completely silent throughout the entire flight, occasionally nodding or muttering replies to C-3PO, but otherwise not saying a single word directly to either her or the droid. Padmé understood that he was probably meditating, and that he needed to prepare himself in his own way for the task that lay ahead of him, but she was worried nonetheless. Whenever Obi-Wan drew within himself, it usually meant he was in distress. But this time she had no idea how to even begin to offer him solace.

“Darling?” Padmé gently stroked his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

He stiffened at her touch, and she hated that. “Fine. I’m fine. Listen, when we land, you and I will go out together. I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

Thoughts of comfort flew momentarily out of her head. “No, Obi-Wan, we can’t. I’ve got to have a few moments with Anakin free of your influence. I’m sorry, but there is every chance he won’t trust you, particularly if Palpatine has been indoctrinating him with lies about the Order. This is something I must do myself.”

“No.” Obi-Wan’s hand came out to grip hers, and she was shocked at his strength. “No, darling, I won’t let you. I can’t. Please.”

In his eyes Padmé saw some of the desperation he must have been feeling, and her heart ached for him. It ached because she knew nothing she could say would comfort him, and because her instinct told her that Anakin would not react favourably to her marching down the boarding ramp with Obi-Wan in tow. She had made her decision, and as she saw Anakin hurrying from the main building towards her ship, she knew it was the right one.

She leaned towards Obi-Wan, and enveloped him in an embrace. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his shoulder. “I have to do this. If there is any danger, of course you’ll intervene. But I have to try. Please let me try.”

Slowly he rose, pulling her with him and clutching her as he had in her apartment. A few moments passed and Obi-Wan finally kissed her, softly and deeply. “I will take measures to conceal myself so that he does not sense my presence in the Force. But at the first sign of any danger, I’ll join you. Do you understand?”

It had already been said, but Padmé nodded. “Of course.”

“Be safe,” he whispered, kissing her again. “Bring him back to us.”

She nodded once more. “I will, darling.”

Anakin was trotting across the landing platform then, so Padmé gently disengaged herself from Obi-Wan and hurried as quickly as she could to the boarding ramp. At the bottom she embraced her friend, relieved to see that his frightening frown and dark eyes seemed to have disappeared.

“I saw your ship,” Anakin said after he’d squeezed her tightly. “What are you doing out here?”

“I was worried about you!” Padmé replied. “Obi-Wan told me terrible things … he said you’ve turned to the dark side, that you killed younglings …” A bitter taste invaded her mouth, and she swallowed hard.

Anakin’s eyes were darkening. “Obi-Wan is trying to turn you against me,” he said smoothly.

“He cares about you, Ani! He wants to help you!”

“Is Obi-Wan going to protect you?” Anakin challenged. “He can’t help you. He can’t save you. He’s not strong enough.”

“Strength doesn’t matter,” Padmé said firmly. “I’m not going to die, Ani. I know you’re afraid. I felt your fear, and it’s terrible, and I understand. But you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be this way. Palpatine is lying to you, he’s trying to manipulate you to serve his own ideals. He’s using you, don’t you see?”

“Don’t you see? Love won’t save you, Padmé.” His voice was growing harsh again. “What you have with Obi-Wan won’t do you any good. I had to do this, and I did, and I have conquered my fear! I’ve finally become what everyone said I could be: the Hero With No Fear! And I can help you. I would do anything to protect you. Everything I have done, I have done for you!”

“Anakin,” she whispered, and tasted terror again. The Jedi, the Temple, the slaughter … how could he have done that for her? How could he think she would want it?

I have seen a security hologram of him … killing younglings …

“Anakin, what have you done?” Padmé looked him in the eye and again willed him not to lie.

“What I have done is bring peace to the Republic,” he told her. “So you don’t have to be afraid anymore. So you can have the twins without worrying.”

“The Republic is dead,” Padmé countered desperately. “You killed it. You and Palpatine.”

“It needed to die,” Anakin said dismissively.

She was crying, she knew this now. Tears streaked her cheeks and dripped onto the front of her blouse. How can he say that, how can he say that the one positive thing in the universe, the one thing to which I’ve dedicated my life, is a sham? How? And she understood, in a flash, that she hadn’t even begun to reach the real Anakin, her friend, the man she knew.

So she probed more deeply, searching for an opening. “Anakin, please. Come with me. Help us raise the children. You’ve got to leave all of this behind while you still can, before something happens!”

“Nothing will happen,” interjected Anakin. “Nothing can happen. Let Palpatine call himself Emperor. Let him. He can do the dirty work, all the messy, brutal oppression it’ll take to unite the galaxy forever – unite it against him. He’ll make himself into the most hated man in history. And when the time is right, we’ll throw him down –”

“Anakin, stop!” Padmé cried.

“Don’t you see?” he barreled on. “We’ll be heroes. The whole galaxy will love us, and we will rule. Together.”

All she could do was back away.

All she could do was probe inside him, probe for the other end of the Force connection, and hope that it held. All she could do was to try and reestablish that crucial contact, that thread, because if she could reach it … it was the key to unlocking what remained of her best friend.

All she could do was whisper, “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Obi-Wan was right … you’ve changed.”

The air around Anakin seemed to crackle like a thunderhead. “I don’t want to hear any more about Obi-Wan,” he snapped. “The Jedi turned against me. Don’t you turn against me!”

“I don’t know you anymore!” Padmé burst out. Need the connection … where is it … “Ani … you’re my friend! We’ve known each other since we were children! But I can’t … you’re going down a path I can’t follow!”

“Because of Obi-Wan?” Anakin growled.

And for a moment she had it … for a shining moment she knew, and it was him, and it was as though she had stepped onto a clear, green field. And she could only send him her love, and implore him to break through the barriers that comprised his outer self …

“Because of what you’ve done! What you plan to do! Stop, stop now! Come back! We love you!”

The connection was wrenched away, and the thunderstorm roiled and burst and sent lightning streaking to the ground. “Liar!” Anakin accused, and his eyes, dark and yellowing, were fixed on a point beyond Padmé’s shoulder.

She turned, and saw Obi-Wan at the top of the boarding ramp.

“You’re with him!” Anakin shouted at her, and his voice was full of a cadence she had never heard before. “You always have been! It was always about him, never about me! And now you’ve brought him here to kill me!”

“Padmé, move away from him,” Obi-Wan said, fixing his eyes upon his former apprentice.

“No!” Padmé exclaimed, to both of them. To Anakin, to the foul creature devouring him, “No, I promise, I didn’t –”

“You brought him here!” the creature growled, its eyes now a vivid, feral yellow. “Do you deny it?”

“Ani, no!”

“Padmé, move away,” and there was something like panic in Obi-Wan’s tone, or as close to panic as she had ever imagined he could feel. “He’s not who you think he is. He will harm you.”

The creature smiled at her, the kind of smile a predator might wear before devouring its prey. “I would thank you for this, if it were a gift of love.”

“Darling, come here. Come to me. Now.”

Obi-Wan had almost reached her and she wanted to collapse into his arms, but she was afraid, afraid of the man who should have been her friend, afraid he might kill them both. And something inside her was breaking, some innocent part that had trusted and to which suspicion was alien. That part kept crying, kept whispering Anakin and No …

Then, as swiftly and inexorably as if the predator had pounced, her windpipe closed. She gasped for air, clutched at her throat, tried to say his name, but she could not breathe and she was going to die, he was going to kill her, right here on the landing platform in front of Obi-Wan … and the twins would die too, and she couldn’t breathe and he wouldn’t kill them, he wouldn’t …

Anakin! her mind screamed.

Oxygen! her brain screamed, and her vision began darkening around the edges.

She had to look into his eyes, had to let him know exactly what he was doing, and she scrabbled for the Force connection but it was inaccessible, and silently begged him with her eyes. Don’t kill the babies … please … kill me, take me instead … don’t kill my children …

And she could hear Obi-Wan, but not what he was saying … and her vision tunneled more … the pressure released …

And Padmé Amidala could do nothing but collapse.

I’m sorry, Anakin.

I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.

I’m sorry.

***

It was the worst moment of his life.

She lay sprawled, broken, like one of the children in the Temple, the curve of her belly rising unnaturally and reminding him of all he stood to lose. Her hands were pressed to the hot metal of the platform, her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell, but so imperceptibly that he had to stare for a full minute before he was able to note its motion.

Anakin – no, not Anakin, Darth Vader now – was speaking.

“You turned her against me!” he shouted.

Obi-Wan looked at the man who had been his friend, the man whom the dark side had irretrievably twisted. “You have done that yourself.”

Darth Vader stalked backwards and forwards behind Padmé, an alpha male protecting his mate. “You will not take her from me!”

“Your anger and your lust for power have already done that,” Obi-Wan shot back. “Not to mention the fact that she was never yours to begin with. Padmé made her choice, Anakin. She made it long ago. If she had chosen you I would have abided by her decision, and abided by it happily. But you have never been content to do so. Just as there are so many other things you could not accept.”

He bent and stroked her cheek, ghosting his fingers across her lips and feeling breath. Faint, but breath nonetheless. Some of the tension left him, and he relaxed until he could touch her mind. It was a jumble of emotions, betrayal and fear and desperation. Into the Force Obi-Wan breathed a simple message. I’m here, darling. I love you. You’re going to be all right.

And she calmed. He stroked her hair and took one of her hands in both of his, squeezing softly.

To Darth Vader he could say only, “You have allowed this Dark Lord to twist your mind, until now … until now you have become the very thing you swore to destroy.”

“Don’t lecture me, Obi-Wan!” Vader turned malevolent eyes in his direction, and with one last squeeze Obi-Wan moved from Padmé’s side. His quarrel was with Vader, and he had no intention of putting her in the middle once again. “I see through the lies of the Jedi!” Vader continued. “I do not fear the dark side as you do. I fear nothing. I have brought peace, justice, freedom and security to my new Empire.”

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. “Your new Empire?”

“Don’t make me kill you,” was the snarled response.

“Anakin, my allegiance is to the Republic. To democracy!”

Vader tensed, and at that moment Obi-Wan knew battle lines had been drawn. “If you’re not with me, then you’re my enemy!”

“You must be a true Sith if you are dealing in such absolutes.” Obi-Wan took a deep breath, centred himself in the Force, looked one more time at Padmé. “I will do what I must.”

He ignited his lightsaber.

***

It was the worst moment of his life.

The moment when Vader lunged at him, the Sith’s inhuman scream, would be seared onto Obi-Wan’s memory for each of his remaining years of life. So, too, would the chops, parries, pushes, slices and swings which drove them away from the landing platform and into the control room. His subconscious mind would record in vivid detail how he slipped into Soresu, his natural fighting style, and gave ground constantly as Vader battered his defenses with all the power he could summon. It would recall, too, the memories that slipped through Obi-Wan’s mind.

Meeting Anakin.

The boy had asked, “Are you a Jedi too?” before shaking his hand and saying, “Pleased to meet you,” at his amused nod.

His subsequent resentment towards Qui-Gon for his sudden attachment to the boy.

“Then I take Anakin as my Padawan apprentice,” the aged Master said, resting his hands on the boy’s back.

Shock gutpunched Obi-Wan and if not for rules of decorum he would have protested aloud. He shot Qui-Gon a look that barely managed to convey the hurt and betrayal he felt.

“Obi-Wan is headstrong, and he has much to learn of the Living Force,” Qui-Gon told the Council and, Obi-Wan sensed, him as well. “But he is ready to take the Trials. There is little more he can learn from me.”

The cremation ceremony.

Anakin looked into his eyes, tear tracks already streaking his cheeks. “What will happen to me now?” he asked in a small voice. Obi-Wan thought he looked very young.

“The Council have granted me permission to train you,” Obi-Wan replied gently. “You will be a Jedi, I promise.”

The first letter he’d received from Padmé.

“What’s that you’ve got, Master?”

Obi-Wan jerked his head up. “Don’t you have class?”

“It’s over. What is that?” Anakin, already nearly taller than Obi-Wan at just thirteen, tried to peer over his shoulder.

“Nothing. It’s meditation time, young one. Go do your exercises.”

“That’s from Padmé!” crowed Anakin. “Are you in love with her, Master? I think you are!”

The reunion with Padmé after the first assassination attempt.

“Oh, Ani, you’ll always be that little boy I knew on Tatooine,” Padmé said with a small shake of her head and one of her bright smiles.

Obi-Wan would remember the crestfallen look on his apprentice’s face, and he would remember planning to speak with him about it later. But what he would most remember was the feeling of relief that washed through him, inexplicably.

Standing outside Padmé’s room, on guard duty.

“You look tired,” Obi-Wan said, making sure to keep half an eye on the surveillance datapad in his right hand.

Anakin gazed towards the Coruscanti skyline, then up at the stars. “I don’t sleep well anymore,” he admitted.

“Because of your mother?” asked Obi-Wan gently.

Anakin’s response was a single nod, and another glance up to the sky in the direction of a certain planetary system.

The Geonosian arena.

Obi-Wan’s shackles cut uncomfortably into his wrists, but he was no longer paying attention to the pain. His universe had suddenly become the two people in the cart being wheeled towards him, and he thought that had it not been for the restraints he might have crumpled to the ground with relief.

He knew his eyes were on Padmé as he addressed his apprentice, but he could not help it. “I was beginning to think you hadn’t got my message.”

“I retransmitted it just as you requested, Master. Then we decided to come and rescue you.” Anakin rolled his eyes.

Obi-Wan glanced upwards at his still-shackled arms. “Good job!”

His rescue from Ventress.

Pain had become such a part of his landscape that he had forgotten what it was to be without it. He had forgotten what it was like not to groan with every movement, to have dignity, to have humanity, to taste things other than the coppery scent of blood as it dripped down the back of his throat. Obi-Wan woke in a calm, comfortable bed and nearly vomited from the lack of sensory overload.

“Hey! Hey, easy, Master.”

Calm hands were restraining him, pushing him back down in bed. He fought momentarily, being unused to doing anything else, but the hands were too strong and they were not trying to cause him pain. His head hit the pillow, and his eyes flew open.

“Anakin …?”

Obi-Wan’s voice was hoarse from screaming.

“Obi-Wan, you’re all right, I promise.” Anakin clasped one of his hands, and the warmth was immeasurably comforting. “We got you out of there. You’re safe now.”

Obi-Wan waited a moment, and then another moment, wanting this to be real, wanting it not to be just another manipulation of Ventress’s …

And when he knew it wasn’t, he wept, and Anakin embraced him as a brother.

The first moment he felt he could be honest.

He wanted to tell Anakin about his relationship with Padmé because the Force was different, and because things were going to change. He did not know when, or why, or how, only that it would happen.

And somehow he wasn’t surprised when his best friend nodded, when he was accepting of the news that Obi-Wan had been involved with the woman they both loved since the beginning of the Clone Wars. Nor was he surprised at the next words to come out of his own mouth; it was almost as though he had planned to say them in advance, although of course he had done no such thing.

“Why don’t we start over,” Obi-Wan suggested. “Let us not distance ourselves so much from one another. When one of us has a problem, we ought to discuss it instead of attempting to cover it up.”

Anakin smiled, and relaxed. “Right. And … Obi-Wan? I – Padmé’s just a friend to me now. Really.”

Obi-Wan returned the smile. “I know. And she needs you, just as much as you need her.”

The last time he had talked to his best friend.

He hesitated, then finally made up his mind. “Listen, I – this isn’t exactly easy for me to say, but I wanted to ask you an important question.”

Obi-Wan could sense the quizzical look that enveloped Anakin’s face even before the young Knight had conjured it. “What is it?”

Obi-Wan rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “If anything should … well, happen to me on this mission, I want you to promise me something. I want you to promise me that you will take care of Padmé and the babies. Don’t let it interfere with your duties as a Jedi. But if you can – see that she gets to Naboo, that’s where she wants to give birth, and make sure she’s all right.” His heart clenched at the next words. “And if I don’t come back, I want you to be the one to tell her.”

Anakin laughed, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. “Don’t be silly, Obi-Wan, of course you’re coming back. You could take Grievous any day!”

“Promise me, Anakin.” Obi-Wan would not relent. “I don’t want to place an unfair burden on you, but I need to know Padmé will be all right. Please.”

He remembered the sense of gratitude that had filled him at Anakin’s next words, filled him and blinded him to the look of momentary nervousness on his friend’s face. “Of course, Master. I promise.

“I’ll do everything I can.”

***

It was the worst moment of his life.

He did not want to kill his brother. He did not want to strike him down, deal him a mortal wound by his own hand. So he tried to give the Force an opportunity to take its course. Mustafar was suited almost ideally for this purpose, with its eruptions of lava and sulfurous smoke making it impossibly dangerous and difficult. Both combatants, through use of the Force, had created a bubble of clear and cool air in which they could be sheltered from the surrounding environment, but this grew increasingly hard to maintain as the repulsorlift mechanisms around the lava mine deactivated and the assemblage began to dip into the liquid fire below.

Obi-Wan knew it was time to end this, had known it since the first warning sirens shrilled around the mine. He tried to do so naturally, by leading Vader across one of the collector pipes under which lava burnt and boiled. He hoped that a slip, a trip, a well-placed kick or punch might knock his opponent from the pipe and send him tumbling into the maelstrom. Even if Vader were able to slow his fall with the Force, the temperature of the lava would be enough to kill him instantly, perhaps without even any suffering. This, Obi-Wan knew, would be the most humane way to end the battle, and although not an end befitting the great man that Anakin Skywalker had been, at least an end for which Obi-Wan would not be directly responsible.

Vader, of course, did not share his opinion, managing to keep his balance until it became too dangerous for both of them to continue to perch on the pipe, and Obi-Wan, ever on the defensive, dropped to the level below. The lava eruptions followed them, melting the connector plates until gravity took over and what remained of the mine plunged downwards with a fiery splash. Here again Obi-Wan saw an opportunity: a gigantic sulfurous lava fall lay ahead and if he could find a small piece of equipment on which the repulsorlift mechanisms were still active – he had seen one such droid while on the collector pipe – he might be able to escape. As soon as he could, he swung out over the fire and did so, clutching the small platform and panting to regain his breath. After a few moments he stood, reignited his lightsaber and turned to say a quiet goodbye to his best friend.

Not for nothing, though, was Anakin the most prodigiously talented Jedi the Order had ever seen. Vader had spied the droid and took a fantastic – some would say stupid – leap off what remained of the mine to land on the droid and direct it towards Obi-Wan’s platform, his lightsaber glowing and that same feral yellow glint in his eyes.

Obi-Wan sighed, scrubbed a hand over his sweaty face and relaxed into the flow of the Force. It seemed this battle was only going to end one way.

***

It was the worst moment of his life.

The man on the bank below could hardly be called a man anymore. Both his legs and one arm missing, the remaining one mechanical and frantically scrabbling at the soft edge of the bank. But the stones were weak, heated by the lava, and they offered no purchase. The man slid further, down towards the lava river, moaning and screaming.

Obi-Wan looked at his hand, at his lightsaber.

I did that, he whispered to himself.

Anakin moaned, and Obi-Wan looked back at him. He had slid almost into the river. He was writhing, sobbing, screaming now.

“You were the Chosen One!” Obi-Wan cried, finally allowing all of the emotion he felt to leak to the surface, for perhaps the first time in his life. “It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them! Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!”

The Force brought Anakin’s lightsaber to Obi-Wan’s hand, though he could not remember bending to pick it up.

And for a moment, for one shining moment, Anakin was back … there was nothing that remained of Vader, only his friend’s clear blue gaze and his small smile, as if he knew a secret. It was a smile that inevitably made Obi-Wan smile as well, and he welcomed it as he welcomed the man who had fought beside him, the man who was his best friend, the half of himself without which he could not be complete …

And then it was gone, and Vader’s lips were a snarl.

“I hate you!”

Obi-Wan could not bear to watch. But he could not bear to turn away.

“You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you.”

The words were moot.

They were moot because suddenly Vader slipped into the fire, and his legs caught and the flames traveled upwards until he was engulfed, and his screams were not of rage but of a man burning alive, a man transformed into a living effigy. A man who smelled of sizzling flesh and bright fire and other scents that had no business being associated with human.

It would have been a mercy to kill him.

Obi-Wan was not feeling merciful.

It was the worst moment of his life.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

No Emotion

Lightsabers clashed … a man screamed, screamed as though he had been set alight, while another man shouted …

A touch on her hand, that voice she knew as well as her own …

“Darling?”

She did not want to wake, she was too exhausted …

The fingers moved to her cheek. “Padmé, can you hear me?”

She raised her eyelids to half mast. There seemed to be weights attached to them. But at least she could breathe.

“Obi-Wan?” Padmé whispered. Her throat was raw.

He looked relieved, but haggard. His hair and beard were full of soot, and she could smell smoke on his clothing when he bent to kiss her. With an enormous effort she raised her arms and embraced him. His breath sounded shaky against her ear.

“Don’t move,” he told her, gently disentangling her arms from around him and resting them on her belly. “Just relax. You’re going to be all right, I promise.”

She struggled to think; there seemed to be an important question she needed to ask. “Obi-Wan … is Anakin all right?”

The single tear tracking its way down his cheek was all the response she needed to know the truth. And though he had told her not to, she embraced him again, and they stayed that way until Padmé lapsed into unconsciousness once more.

***

Wakefulness came abruptly, and it came with pain.

Pain that was literally gut-wrenching, that twisted her stomach and knotted her legs and clenched her, and she opened her mouth to scream and to ask for it to stop but the only sound that came out was a small moan, and she arched her back, and someone said something in a language she could not understand …

Padmé’s eyes shot open and more pain lanced through her. Bright lights blinded her momentarily and with a thrill of horror she realized she was in the birthing room of Anakin’s nightmares, the room that had tormented him constantly and caused him such fear. She looked wildly around, searching for Obi-Wan, for anyone, for a single familiar face.

And then he was with her, threading his fingers through her hair and brushing sweat from her brow. “Shh, Padmé, you’re going to be all right,” Obi-Wan soothed. “Just calm yourself. Everything will be fine.”

Another stab of pain, and her face contorted, and so did his. “Please make it stop,” she whispered. “It hurts, please …”

He clasped her hands in his and brought them to his lips, kissing her softly. “You’re going to have the babies, darling. The medical droids have induced labour.”

“No!” Padmé cried, louder now. “No, no, it’s too soon –”

“You’re injured,” Obi-Wan said, somehow keeping his calm. “You won’t be able to maintain the pregnancy and heal yourself at the same time. That would be too dangerous both for you and for them, especially considering how much blood you’ve already lost. We need to get them out. I promise you it will be all right.”

“No, no, I can’t, I just can’t, it hurts …” She turned away, tried to quell her fear, but another contraction hit and she couldn’t, couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the pain and it was too soon, the children were not ready to be born yet and what if she lost them, she could not handle more loss right now …

Obi-Wan had turned to the medical droids across the room. “Can’t you give her something for the pain?”

“I’m sorry,” one of the droids answered. “Her labour is too far advanced. To administer any further medications would pose an unacceptable risk to both her and the children.”

The pain abated for a moment and Padmé gasped for breath. Obi-Wan brushed the tears from her cheeks, resting his fingers there for a moment. She drew strength from his touch.

“Obi-Wan, I can’t,” she said softly. “I can’t. I just can’t. What if they die? What if we lose them?”

He kissed her fingers once more. “I have faith in you. I know you will deliver them safely. You haven’t failed me yet, and you won’t start now.”

“I couldn’t bring Anakin back,” Padmé whispered miserably. “I tried, and I couldn’t.”

“Darling, this is different. You have the strength for this, I know you do.”

More tears trickled, unbidden. “How?”

In his eyes she saw nothing but admiration and love. “Because you’ve always had it. You have always been the strongest person I’ve ever known. You went off, you followed your dreams, nobody could stop you. You became Queen, you saved your planet, you accomplished so many things as a Senator. You earned my respect, and then my love. And you have that strength in you now, Padmé. You simply need to find it.”

She gripped his hand through the next contraction, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Remembering his words, drawing solace from them.

You have always been the strongest person I’ve ever known … you earned my respect, and then my love.

Padmé set her jaw. She could do this. She would. Perhaps she had not succeeded in bringing Anakin back to the light, but she would not fail in this task. She could not fail in this task.

She would not let her children down.

***

He didn’t know where the words had come from. He certainly hadn’t planned to say them. But the moment they sprang to his lips he knew he believed them, and he knew he needed to convince her of them as well. It looked as though he’d done that – Obi-Wan recognized the steely glint in Padmé’s eyes from many a challenging situation, and he understood from past experience that this meant she would apply herself fully and without reservation to whatever task needed to be completed. Whether that task was a planetary liberation, a debate in the Senate, an impossible treaty negotiation or giving birth to their babies (something for which she was probably not prepared physically, much as he hated to admit it).

Obi-Wan shoved those thoughts from his mind and concentrated on clasping her hands, allowing her to squeeze them as she needed. Padmé’s newfound determination did little to shield her from the facts of her progressing labour, and he knew she must be in terrific pain. The medical droids had told him before she woke up that things would be so, but it was difficult to watch nonetheless. So, too, was the knowledge that he was at least partially responsible for her current suffering, if indirectly.

Padmé loosened her grip, panting for breath and letting her eyes drift shut momentarily. The droids had told her it would be time to push soon, and she was trying to conserve her energy.

“Stop it, Obi-Wan,” she said.

He was puzzled. “Stop what?”

“You’re blaming yourself. I know it. Stop that.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan allowed himself to chuckle. “Do you have Force senses now too?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Padmé replied. “I know you. You’re thinking that you got me into this mess in the first place, and so you should take full responsibility for the fact that it hurts. Stop, all right? It’s not your fault.”

He opened his mouth to offer an objection, then closed it when none came to mind. She was exactly right, and there was no getting around that fact. Throughout their relationship Padmé had teased him and sometimes outright reprimanded him about his overdeveloped guilt complex and how he always tried to shoulder the blame for things that were not his responsibility. He couldn’t help it; much of that was instinctual and often he wasn’t even aware of it. Nevertheless, Padmé had made it clear that she would brook none of that, and he was secretly touched that she kept it up now, when she was so obviously incapacitated.

Obi-Wan bent close to her and kissed her softly. “I love you,” he whispered.

She smiled, the first genuine smile she had worn since before they left her apartment on Coruscant. “I know.”

He held on to that exchange and held it desperately, for in the next moments the contractions intensified to a level where Padmé could no longer speak, and where her grip on his hand became vice-like. But her eyes never lost their glint of determination, and she did not falter when one of the medical droids informed her that it was time to begin pushing.

Obi-Wan helped as he could, brushing her hair from her eyes, sponging sweat from her forehead and unconditionally surrendering one of his hands for her to squeeze as she needed. But he could not prevent the sense of inadequacy that stole over him. After all, he was not really doing anything. Padmé had the difficult job, the painful job, while he had gotten off comparatively easy.

I wonder if all men feel this way while witnessing the birth of their children? he thought.

In moments, however, all thoughts of being inadequate flew from his mind. With one final exertion, Padmé collapsed onto the medical bed as an infant’s shrill cry was heard. The midwife droid emerged from behind the screen that had been set up, clutching a tiny baby.

“It’s a boy,” Obi-Wan exclaimed as the droid handed him the child, wrapped in a soft white blanket. “Padmé, we – we have a son.”

Emotion clogged his throat, and he could not continue. But Padmé understood. With a radiant smile she reached out a hand to stroke the baby’s forehead. “Luke,” she whispered. “Do you mind if we name him Luke?”

“Of course not.” He had to consciously remember to breathe as Luke opened his eyes, which were the same deep blue as Obi-Wan’s own. This child is my son, Obi-Wan thought blankly, reverently.

Luke yawned, and gripped his father’s finger. “Hello there,” Obi-Wan whispered, and sank into the Force. There the connection was far more pronounced. The baby’s thoughts were fleeting and ill-organized – it was not unlike stepping into a fast-flowing river or stream – but there was an instant spark of recognition, and for a full minute neither father nor son moved, so lost were they in each other.

Padmé watched with fascination. “He knows you,” she said quietly. “It’s remarkable.”

“I established a Force connection with him,” Obi-Wan explained breathlessly. “I didn’t think he would remember, but –”

“I don’t even mean that,” Padmé interrupted. “When the droid put him in your arms, he stopped crying. He knows who you are, even without the Force.”

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to feel fascinated. “Amazing.”

She tensed, closing her eyes tightly again, and scrabbled for his hand. Quickly Obi-Wan shifted Luke and squeezed Padmé’s fingers, interlacing them with his and bringing her hand to his mouth. Gently he kissed it, and presently she brought their second child into the world.

“It’s a girl,” Obi-Wan translated the midwife droid’s pronouncement.

Padmé gazed at their daughter, wrapped in a blanket like her brother and resting on her mother’s stomach. Unlike Luke, however, the girl had not cried when she was born. Instead she stared up at her parents, focusing intently as though she wanted to memorize every detail of their faces. She looked from her mother to her father, blinking only when absolutely necessary.

“Leia,” Padmé said.

Obi-Wan tore his eyes away from his children long enough to ask, “That’s a kind of Nubian flower, isn’t it?”

Padmé nodded, surprised. “Yes. It grows wild around Varykino.”

“I think Leia would be a lovely name for her,” he said.

Padmé smiled, and her eyes drifted closed as one of the medical droids slid a needle of medication into her arm.

Luke sneezed, nestling deeper into Obi-Wan’s tunic, and for the first time on that long, horrible day, Obi-Wan felt at peace.

***

Several hours later, he found himself in a small briefing room on the Tantive IV with Yoda and Bail Organa, deciding the fate of the galaxy.

“Hidden safe, the children must be kept,” Yoda began. He had met the twins earlier, and had made no comment except to say that their Force potential was great.

“We must take them somewhere the Emperor will not sense their presence,” Bail added.

“Split up they should be,” Yoda said decisively.

“No,” Obi-Wan spoke up.

Two pairs of eyes turned to face him.

“I’m sorry, but I will not allow that,” he continued. “You both are speaking as though neither I nor Padmé has any say in what is to be done. With respect, Master, Senator, that is not true. It might have been before, but it is not now. From a logical standpoint I understand why splitting them would be the safest option, but the logical point of view is not the only one. And I am sure Padmé will want to keep them with her. Children need their mother.”

“But with both apart, a chance we might create,” Yoda countered. “If discovered one is, survive the other still might.”

“No,” Obi-Wan repeated simply. “I have no doubt that one day they will became pawns in the war that will have to be waged against the Sith. But I do not wish that to happen while they are still so young. The downfall of the old Order was arrogance, and a lack of compassion despite what is preached by the Code. To have compassion for other living things, you must experience the type of attachments that Padmé and I were permitted. If we raise the babies as Padawans were raised previously, we might well end up perpetuating the cycle of detachment. They need to experience the bonds of a family. A normal family.”

Yoda’s eyes were closed in contemplation, and for several moments Obi-Wan was afraid he might have caused offense. But when the aged Master spoke, it was with a tone of respect. “Wise, you are, for one so young. But remain, the challenge of their safety does. What suggest you?”

Obi-Wan thought for a moment. “Padmé and I had – well, plans,” he said finally. “It started out as a joke, a silly game with which we could comfort ourselves while I was away at war. But gradually we grew very serious about it. When the war was over I was going to take her to Naboo, where she would give birth and we would marry. We were going to live in the Lake Country, since she’s got a very lovely resort up there. I think that could still be a sensible idea, especially given that the Council saw fit to send her there when attempts were being made on her life. It’s extremely isolated, and we would be able to see any enemy approaching long before they reached us. That’s of course providing they knew where to look.”

“Know the location, young Skywalker did,” Yoda said darkly. “If still alive Vader is, communicate that location to the Emperor he could.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head, releasing his grief quickly into the Force. The subject of Anakin was one he preferred not to think about.

Bail was stroking his beard. “What if we arranged a decoy?” he asked.

Both Jedi looked up. “A decoy?” Obi-Wan repeated.

“Yes. Padmé told me once that in the early stages of her pregnancy, when she was feeling quite ill, she would often have her handmaidens sit in for her in important meetings, and no one ever realized that the dignitary in attendance was not actually Senator Amidala. Suppose we used that fact to our advantage now, to make the galaxy believe she was killed in the uprising?”

“What, you mean – pretend that she is dead?” asked Obi-Wan.

Bail nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

Obi-Wan sighed and kneaded his temples, mulling over the implications of this approach. “It could work, I suppose. If the Emperor and – and Vader were made to believe she was dead, perhaps they would not bother searching for her. Of course, we would also need to make them believe that the baby she was expecting died with her. And there would need to be a state funeral … and what would we do for a body? Maybe if one of her handmaidens was drugged, so she appeared dead …”

“Risky, this is,” Yoda murmured.

“With respect, Master Yoda, no more so than the other ideas we’ve been discussing,” Bail pointed out. “Splitting up the twins also poses several problems, not least of which where they would go, and how they would get there. I know my wife and I would be more than willing to take Leia, but what of the boy? He would have to remain with Padmé and Master Kenobi, and we are still faced with the issue of the Emperor seeking them out. In my opinion that fact does not change, whether Master Kenobi and Padmé raise one child or whether they raise two.”

“True this is. Perhaps confronted with these issues we would be regardless.” Yoda folded his fingers over his gimer stick. “Very well. To Naboo we will journey, and a funeral we will arrange. But plans we must develop for escape, should that become necessary.”

Down the hall, a baby wailed, and Obi-Wan felt the pull of his young family. “Master Yoda, do you think my children will be able to defeat Darth Sidious?”

“Strong the Force runs in your line,” Yoda replied. “Hope, we can. Until the time is right, disappear we will.”

Bail rose from his chair, nodding. “And I must do the same – metaphorically, at least. You may hear … disturbing things … about what Mon Mothma and I do in the Senate. We must appear to support the new Empire, and our comrades with us. It is Padmé’s wish, and she is a shrewder political mind than I’ll ever be. Please trust that what we do is only a cover for our true task. We will never betray the legacy of the Jedi. I will never surrender the Republic to the Sith.”

“Trust in this, we always will,” Yoda assured him.

Bail bowed and left.

The baby cried again, and Obi-Wan rose as well, but Yoda stopped him with a glance. “Master Kenobi, wait a moment. In your solitude on Naboo, training I have for you.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “Training?”

“An old friend has learned the path to immortality,” Yoda explained. “One who has returned from the netherworld of the Force … your old Master.”

Obi-Wan hardly dared to breathe. “Qui-Gon …”

The barest hint of a smile appeared on the aged Jedi Master’s wizened face. “How to commune with him, I will teach you.”

***

Someone was shaking her shoulder, and she could hear a high-pitched wail. Padmé dragged herself back to consciousness through a haze of pain medication, opening her eyes only when she felt a caress on her cheek.

Obi-Wan was sitting on her bed – for she was in a bed, of some sort – holding a squalling Luke. It didn’t surprise her to discover that she could already tell the babies apart, even though she had only known them for a few hours. Mother’s intuition, she supposed, and she thought of saying those words to Anakin and winced at the memory.

“Darling, I’m sorry to wake you, but I think he’s hungry,” Obi-Wan said, and he did indeed sound apologetic. “The medical droids gave us some formula, but they felt it would be better to start the babies feeding from you given how difficult it may be to obtain resources in the future.”

The words slid around in Padmé’s mind, so she didn’t bother trying to interpret them. Instead she attempted a wavery smile, and reached for her son, delighting in his warm weight in her arms and the new life he so obviously represented. “Hello, Luke,” she whispered softly, leaning down to nuzzle the baby. He quieted, rooting around and making sucking motions with his tiny mouth.

“He knows what he wants,” Obi-Wan remarked with a laugh.

“Apparently,” Padmé said dryly. “Here, help me.”

The gown the medical droids had dressed her in was hardly suitable for the task at hand. A one-piece garment, it buttoned up the back and had sleeves that needed to be removed before the proper access could be sought. Padmé was annoyed about this until she remembered that the facility where she had delivered the twins, although equipped to handle almost any type of medical emergency, was meant mainly to repair the cuts, scrapes and sometimes broken limbs suffered by the members of the mining colony. There had been a midwife droid to assist with her labour, but outside of that the facility was unlikely to cater to many childbearing women. Why then would it stock clothing that did the same?

Obi-Wan carefully unbuttoned her down the back and pulled both sleeves off her arms while she juggled Luke. After a few more moments of inexpert fumbling, the baby was suckling contentedly, and although the bed she lay in was barely big enough for one person, Obi-Wan had somehow managed to squeeze himself in on the other side. He wrapped one arm around her now, and she leaned her head appreciatively against his shoulder.

“Obi-Wan?” Padmé murmured sleepily. “Where do we go from here? I mean … where do we live, where do we raise the twins … how are we going to hide?”

“I’ve discussed that already with Master Yoda,” he replied. “I argued very strongly in favour of following our original plan, living on Naboo in the Lake Country. It took some persuasion, but he eventually agreed.”

“You mean, like we said we were going to? Before …” Her voice trailed, but she sensed he knew what she meant. Before. Before the Empire, before Darth Vader, before, when things were so comparatively innocent.

Obi-Wan exhaled a long breath, his grip on her tightening perceptibly. “Yes,” he said finally. “Like before.”

With her free hand Padmé turned his face to hers, stroking his cheek and kissing him softly. From this vantage point she could see tears glistening in his eyes, tears that she knew he was refusing to let out.

It was her turn to drape an arm about his shoulder, drawing him into a hug. He fixed his eyes on Luke, drawing a finger across his son’s tiny fist.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay to cry.”

She could still smell the scent of Mustafar on his tunics.

Obi-Wan drew a shaky breath. “No,” he said. “No.”

He spoke no more.

***

The knuckles of his hands shone white, clenched as they were against the wall. He leaned in, remembering to breathe, banishing the smell of smoke from his nostrils. The Code. The Code. He repeated it in time with his breathing, in time with his head bumping lightly against the wall.

There is no emotion, there is peace  
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge  
There is no passion, there is serenity  
There is no death, there is the Force

He had very nearly lost control. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, let that happen again.

But what if it did?

There is no emotion, there is peace …

What if he became like Vader? What if his perceptions became so twisted that he could no longer see what was important?

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge …

He and Yoda were the last of the Jedi. But what if he should fall? He could never equip his children to fight the Sith if he was one himself.

There is no passion, there is serenity …

What if he hurt them himself? Vader had hurt Padmé. She was still recovering from her injuries as well as from the birth. What if he was capable of doing the same thing? What if some day they fought, and in a fit of anger he closed his fist and choked –

There is no death, there is the Force …

Obi-Wan pounded his palm into the wall. This wasn’t helping.

A quiet infant gurgle issued from behind him.

He whipped around. Leia, lying in a makeshift crib of two chairs pushed together, stared calmly back at him.

Obi-Wan sighed, and impulsively he strode across the room and scooped her up. He used the careful manner the medical droids had shown him, cradling her head against the crook of his arm. Her warm weight in his arms was reassuring somehow, as was the knowledge that this child was exactly half him and half the woman he loved.

You’re so lucky, little one, he thought. I have no doubt you will have to face horrors, but at least they won’t be immediate. At least you’ll have a loving family.

He began to walk around the room, not with any predetermined destination, just feeling the weight of his daughter and trying not to think about what would happen when they got to Naboo, what would happen when Padmé woke up. She had drifted off after Luke finished his meal, leaving Obi-Wan to change the baby’s diaper and to put him in the same sort of makeshift bed in which Leia had rested. Obi-Wan was surprised at how easy it had been for him to slip into the role of father, considering he had never had much experience with infants before. Jedi were encouraged to volunteer in the crèches when they had the time, but with a Padawan to run after and various missions needing his attention, Obi-Wan was seldom able to do so.

But somehow, with his own children, things were different. He wondered if Qui-Gon, always so loathe to take on another apprentice before he met Obi-Wan, had felt the same way. Or had he felt pressured, once Obi-Wan tried to prove himself? Did he feel he had to, because the Council asked him? Or was it entirely of his own volition? Perhaps he had presented the idea to the Council in much the same way as he had presented Anakin, as something they needed to accept rather than as a matter in which they had a choice.

Either way, I’ll bet Qui-Gon rolled over in his grave when he heard about the Mustafar incident, Obi-Wan thought.

That place again. He closed his eyes and reopened them, focused on Leia’s face, trying to rid himself of the unpleasant images.

Screams, screams that were not made by a Sith Lord but rather by a man, a man burning alive –

Obi-Wan pressed a finger into his daughter’s palm. Reflexively she gripped it, four minute fingers clenched around his one, each of her digits tipped with a barely-visible fingernail. She was so perfect. And he, so imperfect.

How could he deserve her, after what he had done? After what he had failed to do? How could he deserve Luke, Padmé, any of them?

“I hate you!”

He looked into Leia’s eyes. Felt his own filling again as he heard Vader’s words.

It’s okay to cry.

No. It wasn’t. It would never be.

There is no emotion, there is peace …

He was a Jedi. Jedi did not cry. He had shed tears after the miscarriage, but they seemed now to belong to a different person, from a different time. Now, he had a family to safeguard. A family who was depending on him not to succumb to the dark side as Anakin had. Not to lose emotional control, as Anakin had.

A knock sounded at the door. One of Bail Organa’s aides, informing Obi-Wan that they were moments from landing on Naboo. He would need to wake Padmé, begin the necessary arrangements for transporting her and the babies safely to Varykino.

Good. Something to keep him busy. Something to keep him moving. Something to keep him focused, to prevent him from giving in to moments of self-indulgence such as the one in which he had just engaged.

Obi-Wan Kenobi did not cry.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Lessons in Grief

The procession stretched all along the parade route, thronged on either side by what seemed to be all of Naboo. Mourners arrived early to stake out the best spots, pushing each other to the front so as to be able to see more clearly, murmuring softly when the expected casket did not appear as scheduled. They clutched bouquets of flowers and peered down the parade route. Finally, as the sky began to turn pink with the approaching sunset, one Nubian spotted something in the distance and whispered to the friend beside him. A murmur spread through the crowd as all inclined their heads to look.

Six white gualaars, regal in bearing, were making their way slowly down through the square. Behind them, in an open casket of pure white, rested the body of Padmé Amidala, in life their Queen and Senator, and the woman who had almost singlehandedly liberated their planet. She would have been celebrated purely for that, but she had gone on to lead such a successful political career that most every child on the planet knew her name. Now she was gone, killed during the Jedi uprising and, if rumours were to be believed, carrying a child fathered by a Jedi. Only the most persistent gossips dared to speculate on who that Jedi might have been. The smart money was on either Obi-Wan Kenobi or Anakin Skywalker, both of whom had been seen often in Padmé’s presence, and both of whom were thought to be dead as well. But such gossips were usually quickly hushed. No one wanted to remember their heroine that way.

Instead, they had come to pay their last respects. Flowers drifted through the air and landed on the casket or around it or on the backs of the gualaars, and as the procession drew closer many Nubians burst into tears. There she lay: Senator Amidala, as regal in death as she had been in life, hands clasped around a small carved charm, dressed in a gown of radiant blue that resembled the waterfalls she had loved so dearly. Soft white petals were woven through her chestnut curls. Her eyes shut, Padmé looked utterly at peace. They were glad for that. No one noticed the raised welts and large bruises around her throat, or if they did, they pretended not to.

Behind the coffin proceeded a cadre of diplomats and officials, and those who had perhaps the most right to be devastated by Senator Amidala’s death. Ruwee and Jobal Naberrie, dressed in black from head to foot, walked with their arms around each other’s shoulders and twin expressions of profound grief on their faces. Delicate tear tracks were visible on Ruwee’s face. Jobal stared towards her daughter’s coffin, contemplating her loss and the loss of the grandchild they might otherwise have loved. She wondered if Padmé had been happy with Obi-Wan, and where the latter was now – for she did not believe he was truly dead. Jobal had hoped, in the later years of the war, that Padmé might marry him, although she knew of the Jedi prohibition against eternal attachments. She mourned for the fact that she would never see her daughter proceed down the aisle in a white wedding dress toward her beloved. She cursed herself for insisting that Padmé not see Obi-Wan when she first fell in love with him. The lost years weighed heavily on her now.

They weighed heavily, too, on her oldest daughter. Sola walked with her husband Darred and their daughters before them. She had stopped speaking to her mother and father when the news of Padmé’s death arrived. Although she had been on civil terms with them after they consented to the relationship her younger sister wanted, she now could not help but blame them for Padmé’s current predicament. It was irrational. Darred had told her so and Sola agreed. But all she had ever wanted for her sister was happiness, and a family of her own. Through her parents’ refusal to allow Padmé to court Obi-Wan, they had denied her those things. And now it was too late.

The current queen, Apailana, followed the coffin too, as did Jar Jar Binks and Boss Nass, to pay their respects to the outspoken and courageous young woman whose death had come so suddenly. With the help of her handmaidens, Queen Apailana had designed a new pattern of face paint to reflect the shared grief of the people of Naboo. She wore it now, with a headdress of pure white and a somber expression. Jar Jar, who was at heart a simpleton rather than a diplomat, shook with occasional unrepressed sobs. Boss Nass walked with his hands clasped in front of him, his head bowed in reverence.

The procession wound its way through the streets, accumulating many dozens of floral arrangements, until it reached a stately island surrounded by the Theed River. A small boat bore the coffin out towards the island and the crypt of ivory white that waited. As the boat pulled away, Jobal drew a leia flower from the folds of her dress and dropped it gently into the river, a final goodbye.

Four members of the Royal Guard carried the coffin into the crypt. They placed it gently on a pedestal of the same ivory before sliding a transparent plasteel cover over top of it and snapping to a crisp salute. Each of them paused to examine the inscription carved into the pedestal:

Padmé Naberrie Amidala and child  
Beloved daughter, sister, Queen and Senator  
Born on the tenthmonth’s second day  
Died on the sixthmonth’s third day  
“Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”

Then they left, and the door slid shut with a cruel clang.

Padmé Naberrie Amidala was left to her eternity.

***

Eshonna Tiennisa was restless. She shifted her infant daughter in her arms, repositioning them carefully in the small boat. She watched the shore shrink behind her, feeling that with each stroke of the oars she was leaving her life behind, a life that she had not always enjoyed but that would be conspicuous by its absence. Several times she considered asking the oarsman to turn back, or simply leaping from the boat and swimming to shore. But she knew the oarsman would not stop – he was her brother, after all, and had only her best interests in mind – and there was her daughter to worry about. She was still recovering from the baby’s birth, and had barely summoned the energy to climb from her speeder and into the boat. Swimming to shore would be an impossible task and she tired just thinking about it.

Still, something nagged her.

“I shouldn’t have left it behind,” she murmured, readjusting her cloak so that less of her face was visible.

Ben shook his head – or what Eshonna could see of it, since it was concealed under a similar cloak. “It was the only choice you could have made,” he replied.

“You don’t believe that,” Eshonna said bitterly. “We have had to make so many cruel decisions since the rise of the Empire. But they were indeed decisions. Choice implies that I had some say in the matter, which as you well know, I didn’t.”

“None of us have any say anymore,” Ben pointed out. “It is a sad fact of our existence.”

Eshonna looked back towards the shore. The funeral procession was just finishing, and she could see Nubian citizens beginning to filter back towards their homes. This was supposed to be a new beginning, so why did it feel so much like an end?

“I still shouldn’t have left it,” she insisted.

Now Ben showed a little of the strain he’d had to bear. “Well, what would you prefer me to have done, Eshonna? It was difficult enough to make all the arrangements that needed to be made and that particular detail could not be left out. I know you will miss it, but we’ve all made sacrifices. Need I remind you of that?”

She drew back, surprised by the emotions implicit in his voice. “I’m sorry,” she said coldly. “But this is the first time I’ve given up the only life I’ve ever known so you’ll forgive me if I’m just a little out of practice at it.”

“And no one else has had to give up their former life?” Ben snapped. “I’m surprised at you, Eshonna, I would have thought you’d remember who you were speaking to, but apparently not!”

The infant in Eshonna’s arms stirred, disturbed by the angry voices. She let out a tiny wail, and Eshonna immediately bent her head to soothe her. “Hush, little one,” she whispered. “It’s all right. You’re going to be okay.” She peered at her brother over the top of the baby’s blanket, anger rising to the surface once more. “I just wish that you would stop pretending this is all for the common good.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to pretend?” Ben asked, dumbfounded. “Do you want me to lie to you? To her?” He indicated the still-whining infant.

“I just want to grieve!” Eshonna burst out. “I want to grieve for the life I’m leaving behind! I know you were raised to think only of the common good but that is not how others feel! I’m in mourning for the things I had to leave behind. For the people I had to leave behind. And if you had even an ounce of compassion you would be as well.”

She turned away, back towards the now-distant shore, before she could see the hurt on his face.

Neither adult spoke another word until the boat bumped gently up against a dock. Eshonna slung her few bags over her shoulder and stood carefully, declining Ben’s offer of help. Once on the dock she spared a single glance back at him before moving unsteadily up a flight of steps. She knew she was still weak, and probably unprepared for this physical exertion, but at that moment she did not care. He had been hovering around her ever since the birth and while at first she had welcomed his attentions, they had long since become tiresome.

Her vision tunneled slightly and she stopped, blinking to clear her mind. The remaining stairs were wavering before her, but she could see a door ahead and if she could just get to it …

Eshonna stumbled up the steps and put out a shaking hand, grasping the door handle and tugging feebly. If she could just get inside, she knew there was a couch very nearby where she could collapse with her daughter … collapse and sleep, hopefully for a very long time. Perhaps when she awoke she would discover that this had all been some terrible nightmare.

She had no idea how the door opened, but somehow it did and she found herself in an entryway of cool marble. Right … go right. Dropping the bags where she stood, she clutched desperately at her daughter, but her vision tunneled again and this time tiny pinwheels of light broke out behind her eyes. The room seemed to tilt and Eshonna teetered sideways, knocked off balance. She knew she was falling a millisecond before it happened, knew that some invisible force was straining to catch her, knew that strong arms were wrapping around her and the baby … and then she knew no more.

***

“Why did you do that?” Obi-Wan asked.

She did not want to answer. The couch was too comfortable, her eyelids too heavy. But she supposed she should make some effort to show him that she was not the breakable mannequin he believed her to be.

“’M fine, Ben … ’m fine,” she mumbled, attempting to sit up. Strong arms caught her and pushed her back down.

“No, Padmé, you are not,” he countered. “You collapsed. Why didn’t you accept my help at the dock?”

Padmé slowly opened her eyes. We must be inside if he’s calling me Padmé, she thought. Sure enough, her gaze met the living area, drenched in the sunset, the tall couches and overstuffed armchairs looking the same as they always had and the marble fireplace seeming to go on forever. “I – I don’t know. I thought I could do it,” she said lamely.

“It’s only been two days since you gave birth, to twins,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “You lost quite a lot of blood during the delivery and you have … other injuries as well. I’m surprised you made it as far as you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Padmé spat crossly, and then remembered Leia. She’d been carrying her when she fell! “Leia, is she – and Luke –”

“They’re here. They’re fine.” He raised her head slightly so she could see the twins: Luke in a small infant carrier near the door and Leia gurgling happily on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. Obi-Wan rubbed a tired hand over his beard. “Oh well, at least the cover was kept intact.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want the common good to be ignored, would we,” she muttered mutinously. In truth Padmé was too exhausted to continue their argument, but she didn’t want him to think he’d gotten away with it.

Momentary pain flitted across Obi-Wan’s face before he clenched quickly down on it. “Right. I’ll go retrieve the rest of our bags.” He put up his hood and strode briskly from the room.

And suddenly she was crying, for reasons known only to her subconscious. These were not gentle tears either; they were gut-wrenching sobs that consumed her, made her feel like vomiting, convulsed her entire body with their power. The babies watched wonderingly as Padmé tried to stop, tried to tell herself that there should be no reason to cry (forgetting Anakin’s death, forgetting that she would never see her parents or sister or nieces again, forgetting her argument with Obi-Wan) and yet continued, unable to stem the tide.

Leia abruptly decided that she could best help her mother by bursting into tears herself, which she promptly did. For some reason the two large wet spots that appeared on the front of Padmé’s shirt made her cry harder, thinking of the extra work it would be to clean the shirt and mop up the milk and how much angrier Obi-Wan would be at her for making Leia cry and she was so tired, when would she ever get to bed –

Presently Obi-Wan returned, looking mildly surprised at the chaos that had broken out in his absence of perhaps a minute, at most. He exchanged a puzzled glance with Luke before hurrying to pick up his daughter and ferry her to Padmé, who continued to sob.

“I’m – I’m so-sorry,” Padmé squeezed out between her tears, “I – I don’t know what ha-happened, I just – I can’t –”

“Darling, it’s all right. It’s all right.” He drew her close, sending calming waves through the Force to both mother and daughter. “I’m sorry if it was my fault, I didn’t mean to make you feel –”

“No!” she interrupted desperately. “It wa-wasn’t you – you, I just – I should be a-apologizing, I n-never should have said any of those things t-to you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry – and I don’t even know w-what you w-went through –”

“Shhh,” Obi-Wan soothed, kissing the top of her head and resting his chin there, clasping her hand and squeezing tightly. “It’s all right. It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize, I understand, you’ve had to give up so much and you’re still recovering. I know you didn’t want to leave the japor snippet. I shouldn’t have asked you to.”

Somehow he had managed to cut right to the crux of what was upsetting her. Everything she’d had to abandon seemed to be represented by the small carved pendant Anakin had given her as a child. Her family – her parents, Sola, Ryoo and Pooja – would have to go on believing she’d died, and she could never see them again out of fears for everyone’s security. Anakin would never meet the twins, would never frolic with them in the fields or teach them how to ride shaaks bareback. He could never stand up for Obi-Wan at their wedding. Their wedding …

“We never even got married,” Padmé whispered.

“We will. I promise.” He didn’t bother to question the congruity of her statement, just kept holding her. Soothing her.

“How? We can’t even show our faces in Theed anymore, we have to live under assumed names –”

“We’ll find a way. We always have.”

She drew a shaky breath, interlacing her fingers with his, feeling calmer now. “I know. And I really am sorry.”

Obi-Wan smiled and shifted Leia, who was still whining. “I am as well. Now let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

Using a combination of the Force and manual dexterity he managed to help her lift her shirt over her head. She shifted and repositioned one of the couch cushions against her back, leaning into it and unclasping her bra.

Slowly she relaxed as Leia suckled, staring at the fireplace. The sun dipped lower in the sky, and the room grew darker until the lights turned on with a flick of Obi-Wan’s hand. Padmé remained where she was long after the infant finished her meal, Obi-Wan’s arm wrapped comfortingly around her, her mind a jumble of thoughts. She remained there until night had settled like a gentle blanket around the resort. She remained there until her eyes began to close, and without a word Obi-Wan kissed her and carried her to their bed.

***

The lake was peaceful to look at.

So were the sky, and the trees, and the flowers. The early morning was calm and reassuring. No sounds could be heard except the occasional call of a night bird and the waves lapping quietly against the dock. The sun had not yet begun to rise, although a band of flat gray on the horizon suggested that its appearance was to be expected shortly. Previously, the bedroom’s male occupant had enjoyed this time of day. It was the perfect atmosphere in which to meditate and he often rose early for just that purpose.

He wished that could be his excuse now.

The reality was somewhat different. Obi-Wan had simply not slept. He could not in fact recall the last time he had laid down his head with the sole goal of rest in mind. Perhaps it had been on the Republic cruiser to Utapau? No – no, every moment of that trip had been taken up with briefings and strategy meetings. So it had to be on his last night with Padmé, when he had slipped in well after midnight.

He envied her now. She was stretched out in their bed, and though he knew she was suffering with some of the same demons as he – the evening’s outburst had proved that beyond a doubt – her sleep was untroubled. True, she would be exhausted after the night she’d had, after the night they’d both had. The babies seemed to work in concert with one another: when one was asleep, the other was awake. In that, Obi-Wan felt grateful for his inability to relax. It certainly made it easier for him to fetch them and bring them to Padmé when they cried, and sometimes even to catch their distress in the Force before they called out. But by the time that gray stripe appeared on the horizon, he knew he would rather have been woken up a dozen times than to be stuck in this sort of cruel purgatory.

He envied Padmé, too, for her ability to release her emotions. Obi-Wan understood that some of that likely had to do with the changing hormonal levels she would be experiencing after the birth – the medical droids had warned him about that – but one simple fact remained.

She could cry.

He could not.

Oh, he had felt the urge in the early hours and days after the battle, but he had made sure to quickly suppress that urge whenever it presented itself. It was a sign of weakness, a signal that he could not control his emotions. And although he still regarded it that way, the alternative was worse.

He now felt … nothing.

It had not affected him to ask Padmé to give up the japor snippet, her last tangible reminder of the man they had both loved. It had not affected him to hear Yoda’s final words of advice, and then to part from the aged Master. He had idly questioned when they might see each other again, but had not reacted beyond that. It had not affected Obi-Wan to see the life-sized model of Padmé that was made for the funeral. He had even helped to weave some of the flowers through the model’s hair.

Even Padmé’s sobs had not affected him, and that was when he had begun to worry. Now, standing in the bedroom, he tried to summon the tears that had previously been so close to the surface. They did not, would not, come. There was a profound grief somewhere inside him, but it was locked away and he did not have the key. So imprisoned were his other emotions as well. Fear, desperation, even excitement at finally being able to begin the life he and Padmé had talked about for so long, all were inaccessible.

Obi-Wan was empty.

He was an empty shell, and he could not rest.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. He’d lain down beside Padmé after carrying her up to bed and meditating. Usually the calm state of mind required to enter such a trance lent itself easily to sleep. But not this time. This time he could not even summon the feeling of mental exhaustion that he needed to settle down. His physical body was crying out for rest, but his mind would not permit it.

So he had risen. Sometimes he paced. Sometimes he entered the nursery, the old nursery that had once housed Padmé and her older sister and now comfortably accommodated Luke and Leia, and simply stared at the babies. Sometimes, when he could be sure Padmé was deeply asleep, he lay in bed next to her and stroked her hair, kissed her softly, hugged her to him. She seemed to provide a kind of comfort that some part of his subconscious needed. But he could not translate the feeling of relaxation that stole over him whenever she was in his arms into any sort of emotional release.

He felt her presence coming up behind him now, moving slowly and carefully, gently wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked softly.

His hand came up to clutch hers and he turned, wrapping her in an embrace. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You haven’t been in bed,” Padmé stated. “When was the last time you slept?”

I don’t remember did not seem like an adequate response. “I’m fine,” Obi-Wan repeated. “Jedi can go for days without sleeping.”

She rubbed both palms over her eyes. “Darling, answer my question.”

“Why is my sleep schedule so important?”

“Because I’m worried about you! You’ve barely spoken two words since we got to Theed, and goddesses know you haven’t slept tonight. I’ve been up to use the fresher three times now and you’re just standing at the window, staring.”

“You could have asked for my help.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Padmé’s gaze was steely. “I can get there and back perfectly well on my own as long as I take it slowly. Obi-Wan, you’re falling all over yourself to help me, but has it occurred to you that I want to help you? We’ve both been through so much over the past days, weeks, months. We need to get that out into the open, share it with each other, or else it will eat us alive. Remember the miscarriage? Remember what happened after it? I know you. I know you hate to do that and I know it’s because you’re a Jedi and I understand that. But you need to. You need to start healing. We both do.”

He moved away, looking towards the window again, feeling horribly inadequate. Would she understand if he told her? She had just said she would. But would she, really?

“I can’t,” he whispered.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t … can’t do what – what you want me to do.” Obi-Wan took deep breaths. “Can’t – let it out.”

“Why not? Because of your training?” Her voice held no judgment; she sounded genuinely curious.

“No. Well, not only that. Because – because …”

How could he say it was because he felt nothing?

“Tell me,” Padmé said softly.

“Nothing,” he whispered.

“Obi-Wan –”

“Nothing, I feel nothing, do you understand? When we were on the Tantive I concealed my emotions because I didn’t want to end up walking the same dark path as the Sith do. It’s very – very natural for a Jedi to just release any sort of emotion into the Force, it’s what we’re trained to do from the time we are very young children. But something happened. I don’t know what but something happened, and now I can’t … I can’t feel anything, at all. I’m just empty. A void. It’s as though everything just got turned off and now I don’t know how to turn it back on! I don’t know how … I don’t know how to do what you want me to do. I’m sorry.”

His voice was ragged and raised as he sank down on the bed, his head clutched in his hands, fistfuls of hair slipping between his fingers.

She sat next to him. He was aware only because the mattress dipped slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for her words of rebuke, her words of judgment.

“Okay,” Padmé said. Her arms went around him.

“Okay? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I understand.” She sought his hand and slipped it into hers, stroking his fingers. “I understand what you mean even though that’s not what I’m experiencing myself.”

Obi-Wan let out a mirthless bark of laughter. “I envy you, you know? You can cry, you can let it out, but I’m a thermal detonator waiting to explode. At least if your theory is to be believed.”

“Darling, that’s just my way of reacting to this, all of this. And in order for you to move past what you’re experiencing, you have to stop fighting yourself. My ‘theory,’ as you refer to it, is not that the best way of dealing with grief is to let it out. It’s that the best way to deal with it is to do what your feelings tell you. When I came to visit you at the Temple after the miscarriage I saw a man who was desperate to pretend that his grief did not exist. The same is true of the instance on Bail’s ship when I told you that it was all right to cry. Then, you were fighting yourself in the mistaken belief that it wouldn’t do to release emotions. Now you’re concerned about precisely the opposite. You think that in order to grieve ‘properly,’ you must cry. That isn’t true.”

She had cut right to the heart of the matter, in her usual wise way. Obi-Wan had to admit that. He also had to admit that as a man who had little clue how to handle his emotions – beyond releasing them into the Force – he was very glad for her presence, and her knowledge.

He swallowed. “So what should I do?”

Padmé kissed him softly. “Just stop fighting. You are a Jedi; surely you know how to let go? Then let go your preconceptions about how this process is ‘supposed to’ work. It is different for everyone, and everyone goes through it in their own way. The most you can do is be here for me, as I will do for you.”

With a few deep breaths, Obi-Wan managed to summon a small smile. “You sound as though you’ve had some experience in this matter.”

She glanced at their hands, still interlaced in his lap.

“Believe it or not, I have.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

A New Life

Someone was crying.

Panicked, Padmé jerked open her eyes. She realized in the same instant she swung her legs over the side of the bed that the noise came from the twins’ room. It was Luke, and from the sound of it, his cry was about to become a scream.

Throwing a light robe over herself she spared a glance at Obi-Wan. He looked to be fast asleep. Thank the goddesses, Padmé thought. Maybe the things I said to him last night actually had some sort of effect. At least, I hope so.

She padded down the hall and into the nursery, surprised to find Leia still asleep despite her brother’s squalls. “Okay, Luke, come here,” Padmé whispered as she lifted her son from his crib. “Come see Mom. Goodness, I think you’ve grown overnight!” He did indeed seem heavier as she carried him to the changing table, quickly exchanged his wet diaper for a clean one and then settled down in the rocking chair by the window to feed him.

Gazing out at the lake, Padmé sighed. Varykino was always beautiful, but it seemed to exude a special kind of sparkle in the early morning hours, after the sun had just risen. From this perspective she could see but not be seen; the nursery was near to the resort’s gardens but recessed. It was therefore impossible for onlookers to know that a window existed unless they had been inside the building. Perfect for the twins, who needed to be kept concealed.

But she could not help but feel resentful as she contemplated their surroundings. Padmé knew that when she had imagined raising her children at Varykino, she’d pictured picnics in the field, hikes in the woods, teaching them to swim in the lake and dive off the dock and operate the small boat that led from the resort to the shore. She’d thought, once they were capable swimmers, of taking her family to the small island across from Varykino and introducing them to the reclusive glass-blower who lived there. She had never known his name, but she remembered now that he could make amazing works of art out of the most mundane objects. Somewhere in her bedroom at her parents’ house was a delicate butterfly, made by the glass-blower on one of her school retreats. She wondered if her family would still keep it.

That had to be the cruelest irony of all: the future she and Obi-Wan dreamed about had arrived, but in name only. The twins needed to stay hidden as much as possible lest a curious onlooker spot them. Even if those onlookers did not report them to the authorities, there was every chance that the Empire would one day get wind that Padmé Amidala was not lying in the crypt in Theed. Padmé was sure that if this day arrived, Palpatine would stop at nothing to discover where she was hiding so that he could use her to get to Obi-Wan. And the children … with Anakin dead, the Sith Lord needed to look for a new apprentice. Twin children sired by Obi-Wan Kenobi would surely fit that requirement nicely.

Padmé shivered and hugged Luke closer.

For these same reasons, her family could not be made aware that she still lived. The risk loomed too large. They would never voluntarily betray her, of course, but the choice of whether or not to surrender information was largely moot in a dictatorial regime with no laws or forms of conscience governing how it treated its citizens. Torture was used without prejudice until the desired information was extracted from the subject. When subjects outlived their usefulness, they were executed.

Padmé knew that she could not subject her family to even the possibility of capture by the Empire. She could think of nothing more selfish. While they were preparing to journey to Varykino, Obi-Wan had asked Yoda about memory modification, or the process of concealing certain recollections using the Force. The aged Jedi had agreed that it was an option, but cautioned that there was a much lower success rate if the subject was Force-sensitive. In addition, memory modifications were believed to be safe only if no more than two were performed on the same subject. Any more than that could result in serious brain damage.

She sighed. All of the precautionary measures being taken were for her safety, and for Obi-Wan’s, and for the babies’. Logically she understood and even applauded them. But emotionally, they were a lot to get used to. Emotionally, everything that had happened in her life lately was a lot to get used to.

Padmé lifted her son to her shoulder and began to pat his back lightly, gazing out the window again. She wondered, too, how she would cope with the sudden dearth of duty in her life, and how Obi-Wan would deal with being one of the last two Jedi in existence. Their lives had been so entwined with service to the dead Republic’s citizens, and now they were being made to withdraw from it completely and abruptly. She remembered expressing her wish to Obi-Wan that she might stay on as a consultant to the Queen, and perhaps do some work in activism on the side. That now seemed foolish to the point of absurdity. How was she to have any impact on the lives of ordinary citizens when she couldn’t even show her face in public? No: clearly her dream would have to end, but … what would she do all day?

Of course there would be Luke and Leia to care for and teach. And Yoda had hinted that, in order to pave the way for an eventual continuation of the Jedi Order, Padmé and Obi-Wan should at some point consider having a third child. Padmé wasn’t averse to the idea – although she preferred not to think about anything connected to conceiving a baby so soon after the twins’ birth – but she knew that simply being a mother and a wife, while fulfilling, would not sate her thirst to make a difference. Yes, she could tell herself that she was making a valuable contribution to society by raising the twins, who when grown would present a serious threat to the Emperor and had every chance of being able to topple his regime. Yoda had foreseen that potential path. But what about her? What about Padmé Amidala? Sola had so often counseled her sister to think about herself, and Padmé knew what she wanted now. Well, it was more a question of what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to leave public life completely, to give up the chance she had to serve the galaxy. But neither was she sure how she could help now, isolated in Varykino and living with a man who was in every respect marked for death. She would never hold that against Obi-Wan, but it did rather complicate matters.

Padmé sighed again and lowered Luke, whose gaze was fixed intently on the thick foliage outside the window.

“You see those?” she smiled, hugging him close to her. “Pretty flowers, aren’t they? The white ones are called leias, and your sister is named after them. And see the ones next to them? They’re purple lilies. One of my very good friends has a little girl named Lily. I hope you’ll get to meet her someday.”

Padmé thought of Mon, and in the same instant, Luke stiffened his arms and legs, flinging them out straight and letting out a soft whimper.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Padmé asked. “Are you wet?” She felt his diaper, but it was clean. “Maybe you’re getting tired,” she decided, and as she bent to lift him onto her shoulder, he repeated the same series of motions, stretching his limbs out and whimpering.

“Hey, Luke, it’s okay.” Finally getting into position, she rose and began to walk slowly around the room, rocking him and humming tunelessly. She was puzzled by his behaviour, because although she knew that young babies often displayed a startle reflex at loud noises, she also knew that Varykino was far too peaceful to produce any sounds capable of startling. Perhaps, then, it was something else, but she couldn’t think what.

“Guess you’re not going to sleep, huh?” murmured Padmé a few moments later after several circuits of the nursery. Luke was still gazing wide-eyed around the room. “Why don’t we go see your dad?” And with one last circle, she turned left instead of right, heading down the hall towards the room she shared with Obi-Wan.

Luke became increasingly fretful as his mother walked, not outright crying, but making the same little whimpering noises as in the nursery. Padmé pushed open the door to her room and was in the midst of formulating a question when she stopped short. Obi-Wan sat on the side of their bed, his head cradled in his hands.

“Darling? Are you all right?” she ventured. A familiar thought tugged vaguely at her consciousness but refused to make itself known.

Obi-Wan jerked upwards, only just seeming to notice Padmé. “Fine, fine,” he said hastily, standing and pulling the covers up on his side of the bed. “Did Luke wake you?”

“I just fed him,” Padmé replied, shifting the baby slightly in her arms. “He was crying, so I went and got him.”

“You could have let me do that.” Obi-Wan was moving to her side of the bed now, his motions jerky and quick.

“You were dead asleep, and I didn’t want to bother you.” She chewed her lower lip. “Did you have a bad dream or something?”

“Jedi don’t have nightmares,” he said brusquely, and paused. “Well … I don’t have nightmares.”

Suddenly Padmé realized who he reminded her of: Anakin, at this very same resort, after he had dreamt of his mother’s torture. Anakin too had denied it at first, even parroting the same words at her. Jedi don’t have nightmares. She sighed.

“Obi-Wan, how long is it going to take for us to be honest with each other? I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said in a rush, and having finished with the bed, strode past her and out of the room.

Padmé huffed out a breath. “Jedi,” she muttered, and retraced her steps to the nursery.

As she’d expected, he was there, lifting Leia carefully from her crib. His face was troubled, brow creased in a frown. She noted dark circles under his eyes and wondered if he had actually been sleeping, or perhaps simply pretending for her benefit. Leia peeked placidly over his shoulder, seeming to make eye contact with her brother. Luke, relatively calm now, hiccupped and blinked before falling asleep.

“Is Leia hungry?” Padmé asked tentatively. “I can feed her, if you’ll take Luke.”

Obi-Wan jumped and so did she, trying to remember the last time she’d been able to startle him. She found she couldn’t.

“Of course,” he said tersely. They made the exchange silently and Padmé, fighting off a fresh wave of questions, settled anew in the rocking chair. She thought Obi-Wan might leave the room, but he didn’t. He simply stood at the window, gazing out but seeming to see nothing of Varykino’s morning beauty.

Finally she could stand it no longer. “Darling, we need to talk.”

Obi-Wan stiffened almost imperceptibly. “About?”

“About what is happening to you! I want to help you, I need to help you – even Master Yoda said so! But I can’t do that unless you talk to me. You know my level of Force sensitivity is not that acute. I can’t tell what you’re thinking. So you need to tell me.”

“Nothing is happening to me, Padmé,” he shot back grumpily. “I thought our conversation last night established that rather clearly.”

“But you’re having nightmares,” Padmé countered. “You just told me so!”

“I’m not a child who needs to be comforted,” Obi-Wan snapped. “I have two children, children who need my protection! As do you! Emotion has no part in an effective defense.”

“Neither does fear,” she pointed out.

His grip on Luke tightened. He tried to hide it, but she saw anyway.

“I think you’re afraid. Not only of the dream but of the emotions it conjures up. Don’t run from them, Obi-Wan. You have to face them, just as all others who grieve for their lost friends do. Otherwise, you’ll be as you were last night. Numb, and begging for release.” Padmé knew she was taking a tremendous risk with these words, but she also sensed that he needed to hear them. That as a man trained all his life to run from strong emotions instead of confronting them, he would not know how to stop the destructive spiral that might lie in wait for him.

There was a long pause.

Obi-Wan sucked in a breath as he set Luke down in the crib. His knuckles were white as he gripped the sides, eyes closed. She knew he must be seeing the images from his dream, and felt guilty for conjuring them again.

“I saw what happened,” he mumbled. “On Mustafar, when we – he and I – fought.”

Padmé bit her lip. She knew very few details of the events on that planet, aside from the obvious facts. Obi-Wan had returned a broken, haunted man, and Anakin … Anakin had not returned at all. It was her turn to sigh shakily, and she bent down and kissed Leia softly.

“Oh,” she said.

He straightened, and made his way across the room to her. Some inner well of strength had apparently been tapped, for Obi-Wan crouched down next to her and clasped her hand quite firmly. “Nothing that need concern you. You’ll have nightmares too.”

“I want to know,” Padmé replied stubbornly, simultaneously wondering if that was in fact best. “Maybe it will help you to discuss it.”

His face darkened. “And perhaps it will not. I don’t wish to burden you with it.”

“A burden shared is a burden lessened,” she argued. “That’s something my mother always used to say.”

Obi-Wan played with Leia’s toes. “You miss them, don’t you? Your family.”

“You’re changing the subject,” Padmé accused, but only halfheartedly. “It isn’t as though I have any choice in the matter, anyway. You are my family now. You and the twins. You’re all I have left, and I love you. That’s why I want to help.”

“You are helping.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing each finger softly. She savored the gentle intimacy, the feel of his beard prickling across her skin. “Your presence is reassuring. As it always has been. We’ve survived far worse together, and we will survive this.”

“I don’t know.” It was her turn to doubt, her turn to wonder for the thousandth time whether they were doing right by the children, and the galaxy, and themselves. “How do you move on when you’ve had to leave everything else so utterly behind?”

Obi-Wan caressed Leia’s cheek.

“You build a new family. Even when you don’t know how.”

***

Padmé would often revisit that moment, for in the days to come it was the last peaceful time she could remember having. She had hoped to speak with Obi-Wan again regarding his nightmare and the events on Mustafar, but both partners soon became so consumed with the care of the babies that there wasn’t time to hold a coherent conversation. Luke and Leia seemed to follow completely different schedules when it came to eating, sleeping, crying and even diaper-changing. When one was asleep, the other usually woke and began to cry.

They had different and distinct personalities as well. Leia actually had periods of quiet, but when one of her needs was not being met, or when a discomfort was not remedied quickly enough for her liking, she would scream long and loud. Luke, meanwhile, liked to complain. This was not all-out crying but rather a keening whine that was calibrated at just the volume and cadence necessary to drive his parents crazy. Often he would do it even after all detectable problems were taken care of. The only action that seemed to soothe him was walking, around and around the first level of the Varykino resort.

Obi-Wan usually found himself the designated provider of these walks, a monotonous task he didn’t really mind. Padmé was still tired and weak from the delivery and the injuries sustained before it, and often as not she would fall into a deep sleep as soon as the twins had been fed. It was then Obi-Wan’s duty to tuck her in, kiss her and take up Luke, beginning the circuit from sitting room to hallway to dining room to kitchen to garden and back again.

He didn’t tell her about these small excursions outdoors, feeling that they would frighten her unduly. Privately Obi-Wan worried as well about the risk, but he consoled himself with the notion that surely he would be able to sense any beings approaching well before they made themselves known. It seemed to him a cruel life to be condemned constantly to the indoors, to never feel sunlight on one’s cheek or the whisper of wind brush one’s hair. And Luke was calmer in the garden than he ever was in the resort itself. He never whimpered or whined, preferring to gaze at the flowers and trees in wide-eyed fascination. Obi-Wan enjoyed these small moments with his infant son; they were a refuge from the melancholy thoughts and terrifying dreams that still plagued him when he let down his guard.

Padmé had not spoken to him of the nightmares since their brief conversation in the nursery, and privately he was glad. Of course, caring for the twins kept them both so busy that the only words they spoke during the day had to do with the wellbeing of both babies. And at night, communication was mainly accomplished by way of a series of grunts. Obi-Wan didn’t sleep much nowadays, but Padmé was so exhausted that she didn’t notice.

He preferred it that way. There was less chance of her trying to pry into his emotions again, something with which he was acutely uncomfortable.

And thus, life went on. Obi-Wan had never believed that it would or could, but it did. It was a far cry from how he had once spent his time, but he reminded himself that this was probably what he’d be doing anyway regardless of whether the Republic had fallen or not. He had been planning to leave the Jedi Order when the war was over, after all, and on his better days he could almost make himself believe that this was precisely what had happened, that Anakin had never turned to the dark side, that they had never met on a volcanic planet called Mustafar for a duel to the death.

Almost. Then again, when it came right down to it, Obi-Wan did not have many better days.

It would sneak up on him. He’d be holding Luke or changing Leia’s diaper or walking through the garden and suddenly, almost as though he was back in that horrific hell, he could smell the sulfur and taste the burning lava. He could hear Vader’s voice, the words his former apprentice screamed right before he’d caught fire. The flashbacks were so vivid that the first few times, Obi-Wan thought he actually was back on Mustafar, and panicked. Thankfully Padmé had not been around to witness those incidents, or he felt sure she would have tried to probe him and help him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her help – he just couldn’t be bothered to recollect them in full, excruciating detail. The moment would pass, and he was fine as long as he kept moving, kept doing things, kept taking care of the children.

At least, that was what he tried to tell himself.

The truth was somewhat different. Some part of Obi-Wan knew that this was a path down which he could not continue walking, but no aspect of his Jedi training had taught him to cope with all of the things he had witnessed and done over the past three years. The Code preached that emotions, even strong ones, were to be released into the Force and summarily forgotten. For most matters, this method worked. But some emotions resisted even the most fervent attempts to ignore them. Obi-Wan had had experience with one of those before: love. In his opinion, and in the opinions of many other beings who knew him, loving Padmé had made him a better Jedi and a richer person.

But what purpose did the negative emotions serve? More importantly, how – how? – was he to get rid of them?

How could he forget the war? How could he forget the men he’d served with, the Jedi he’d served with, who had died? How could he forget Anakin? How could he forget what he’d done to him? How he had killed –

Obi-Wan couldn’t. But expressing the emotions, even in Padmé’s comforting embrace, seemed so wrong. So against everything the Jedi Order had stood for.

After all, I am one of the last surviving Jedi, he reasoned. I should do my best to uphold what principles I can.

And so, the impasse between Obi-Wan’s emotions and the part of him that still subscribed to Jedi teachings continued.

One morning about two months after the twins’ birth, he awoke from one of his worst nightmares yet. Sometimes the dreams were purely factual, focusing on the events of the war and most specifically Mustafar, but sometimes they veered off in frightening new directions. In this one Obi-Wan had stood helplessly on the lava shore, watching as Anakin was surrounded by a malevolent dark force. His friend screamed for help, but Obi-Wan could offer none. He tried to lift one of his boots only to find them adhered to the flaming rocks. And once again, he was made to watch as Anakin’s clothing was set alight, as Vader’s mouth opened to scream his hatred.

Sweating, shaking, Obi-Wan forced his eyes open. The calm white ceiling of the bedroom and Padmé’s soft breathing beside him were soothing, but still he could not drive the disturbing images from his mind.

A hand found his and squeezed, and he nearly vaulted out of bed from shock.

“Padmé!”

She was peering at him quizzically from her pillow, her left hand firmly clasping his right. “Darling, are you all right? You’ve been thrashing around for five minutes now.”

“Fine – fine,” Obi-Wan stammered. “Just a – a dream. That’s all.”

“Another nightmare?” Padmé fixed him with a serious gaze now. “Was it Mustafar again?”

He shuddered, drawing shaky breaths.

Her hand came up to caress his face, gently brushing the sweat from his brow and trailing down across his mouth and beard. “It’s all right. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I understand.”

More than anything, her touch calmed him. “Just like it always is,” he said hoarsely. “I couldn’t save him. I never can.”

Padmé didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. “You tried your best. We both did. Ani always went his own way, made his own choices. It’s no one’s fault but his that they were not the best ones.”

“I just wish I could believe that,” Obi-Wan mumbled.

“I believe it,” she said.

He struggled, struggled against the rising tide of emotions threatening to engulf him. The Code … the Code!

“Obi-Wan, come here.”

Padmé was holding out her arms, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, even if it meant going numb again, it was so against everything they had been taught and what would Master Yoda say if he were here and –

And before Obi-Wan’s mind could register another objection, Padmé enfolded him in her embrace, and against her soft warmth, he was powerless.

Bitterly, he wept.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

The Surprise

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
I realize I have neglected this journal for the past months, but I suppose I have had good reason to do so. So much of what has happened since Anakin left us has been difficult, if not impossible, for me to process and therefore I feel inadequate recording it in this manner. Even now I’ve jumped ahead, failed to explain his death and the parts Obi-Wan and I had to play in it. Even now, writing “his death” in reference to Anakin is something I would much rather avoid.

But there is no escaping cold fact, though I have tried many times. Anakin was killed, a little over three months ago, slain by a Sith called Darth Vader. Had you tried to convince me of this fact a year ago, I would almost certainly not have believed you, though now it is truth. I used to think that no Sith ever born could even touch Ani, let alone claim his life. One did. I saw it with my own eyes and to this day – very likely, until the day I die – it’s an image I won’t be able to forget.

In those two days and nights I felt more sadness, lived more tragedy, than I believe I ever have before or ever hope to again. I believed I could change a person, persuade them to return to the light and that they had made the wrong decision in retreating from friendship and family. How utterly foolish and naïve I was. Even now I am angry at myself, and I feel betrayed.

I am angry, too, at the one who brought such pain upon us. I cry and then I’m frustrated with myself for bowing to the power he apparently still has over me. I think that if it were not for him I wouldn’t be raising my children in what amounts to a prison. (It is a lovely prison, true, but by virtue of the fact that we cannot venture outdoors or show our faces in public, still a prison.) And then I feel angry again, because I know that by submitting to these thoughts, I am only feeding the dark forces. How can I not, though, when such feelings are for me as natural as breathing?

But most of all the anger surges at another time. It surges when I am in bed and my love thrashes around in his sleep, waking wild-eyed and desperate. It surges when I see him pause, sometimes midway through one task or another, and take deep breaths before continuing. It surges when on occasion he surrenders to his basic impulses and breaks into tears, and I must hold him and soothe him back to himself. It surges in the even rarer moments when he is afraid, for myself or the twins, and I must reassure him.

Out of sight I grit my teeth and I think: Anakin, how could you do this to us?

Of course I know it is not Anakin who is directly responsible for any of this. It is Vader, and I would do well to remember that distinction. But everything for me, and for this family right now, is so tied up in Anakin and who he was and who he turned into and who I know he could have been. The consequences of his actions cannot reverberate for him now, in death. But they reverberate within my family. They reverberate in my irrational anger and in Obi-Wan’s grief and in the reason we are trapped here. Between waking up each morning and going to bed each night I am forced to think of the impact Vader has left, even when I don’t wish to. (Which is most of the time. I just want to get on with my life. Is that so much to ask?)

This is not the dream Obi-Wan and I wanted. It isn’t the dream we asked for and I hate that. The fury wells up within me and I want to throw things or physically hurt Vader for doing what he has done. I want to hurt him as he has hurt Obi-Wan. I want him to see what he has done to my kind, gentle love. I want HIM to be the one to hold Obi-Wan when he wakes from yet another nightmare, on the rare occasions when he breaks down. On the common occasions when I can tell that he is holding everything back, and when I ache for him and what he refuses to release.

I want HIM to cope with what I have to cope with, every single day, without pause or break or respite. I want him to know how it feels, how I long for the life I wanted rather than the one I received. But of course, life never asked me what I wanted.

This reality, this here and now, is what I have. It is paltry compared to what I hoped for.

[Later]

I just reread what I wrote.

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I would entertain such thoughts, feel such vitriol towards a man I considered my friend and a man I love with all of my heart, simply because it might infringe on what I once dreamed.

I disgust myself.

Padmé put her datapad aside and sighed, twining her fingers through her hair. She tried to remember the last time she had styled it, truly taken the time to wash it and dry it and treat it properly. It had not been for a long while – perhaps not since the twins had been born? She hadn’t had the inclination or the reason, but more importantly, she hadn’t had the time. Caring for the babies, while not the all-consuming task it used to be, still took up a large part of her days and nights. And after the children, there was Obi-Wan, who never purposely took up her time but who still was not the man he had been, even after three months.

In fact, she doubted he had made much progress at all. They’d argued about that last night, when Padmé casually asked him when he had last meditated. Uncharacteristically defensive, he had told her that his communications with the Force were none of her business. She’d replied that his welfare, however, was, and before either of them knew it they were shouting at each other.

She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them tiredly. They still hadn’t made up, greeting each other frostily ever since. At least she’d been truthful in writing that this was not the life she had hoped for.

He still had nightmares. Not every night, but most. He’d taken to hiding them for a time, rising quickly and exiting the room quietly in hopes of not waking her and having to discuss it. She’d let him for awhile, but she longed to comfort him, help him in whatever way she could, and finally Padmé could stand it no longer. Besides, she sensed that he needed to talk about the dreams, whatever he thought, and that bottling up his feelings would only lead to more pain in the long term.

So she had started to confront him. This led only to more conflict between them, as Obi-Wan sought to conceal his difficulties and Padmé tried to draw him out. They would argue again, or he would simply refuse to talk to her, and she got nowhere. Inevitably at these times Padmé would return to Anakin, and Vader, the causes in her mind of all their current difficulties. If only they were back on Coruscant, if only Obi-Wan could still be a Jedi and she a Senator, if only they did not need to keep themselves and the twins concealed, if only she could see her family, if only, if only, if only …

She realized during the course of these ruminations that this was the first time since they had become involved romantically that she and Obi-Wan had actually lived together, on a long-term basis. Before, they saw each other in bits and snatches punctuated cruelly by war, and due to the long separations their desire built over a period of weeks or months so that when they finally saw each other, all considerations were forgotten in favour of the sheer, simple joy that came with being together. Since the end of the war and the birth of the twins, they were together always, and while Padmé had no desire for things to return to the way they were previously, she was finding that living together as a couple – with newborns to boot – took more work than she had ever imagined.

Of course, theirs was still not a normal situation. Both were coping with the fact that their previous lives had ended suddenly and brutally, and not by any choice either had made. Outside forces had conspired to rob them of their public personas, and since life in servitude to the Republic was all both Obi-Wan and Padmé had ever known, it was a matter of constructing new personas, personas that could live with each other and raise two babies and somehow manage to come out still in love and with the same sort of relationship.

Padmé still loved Obi-Wan and she knew without a doubt that he loved her, perhaps even more deeply than he once had. But it had been months since they were a couple, enamored only of each other without outside pressures or demands on their time. They had not been intimate for far longer, the last time occurring just before Obi-Wan had left to hunt down Grievous. Partly this was due to Padmé’s own physical healing – she’d felt exhausted and excruciatingly sore for a long while after the twins’ birth, and her only preoccupation when she was not caring for the babies had been sleeping and grieving for what she had lost. Obi-Wan understood, of course, and anyway he’d been too busy wrestling his own demons to show much interest in intimacy with her.

She sighed again. Why did this all have to be so complicated, anyway? She just wanted to live here and raise the twins and love Obi-Wan, and have that be enough. Padmé hadn’t counted on all the additional baggage that seemed to be along for the ride.

Still … she looked back at her datapad. All of these difficulties did not give her the right to be angry at Obi-Wan, or even at Anakin for that matter. She was annoyed at herself for even thinking that way.

Sudden footsteps in the hallway startled Padmé out of her thoughts. Obi-Wan barreled into the room clutching a sobbing Luke. The back of Obi-Wan’s tunic was splattered with the remains of their son’s last meal, but that didn’t seem to be what was troubling him.

Instead, he turned worried eyes on Padmé and announced, “There are people coming.”

She gasped. “What? You mean, coming here?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I can sense their intentions. Padmé, I – I think it’s your family.”

Padmé drew a shocked breath. “Goddesses. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. I thought you said they wouldn’t come back here!”

“I said I didn’t think they would come back here, not that I knew for certain!” She bit her lip and reached for Luke; the baby quieted as he felt his mother’s comforting arms around him. “But we can’t let them know we’re here, we just can’t, think of what the Empire would do to them if –”

“Well, what do you suggest we do, then? We’ve lived here for three months, there’s evidence all over the place that we can’t clean up in five minutes! And that’s supposing we could hide ourselves for whatever length of time they’re planning to stay here, which is impossible in and of itself. We have no choice!”

“They’re my family, Obi-Wan!” Padmé felt dangerously close to tears. “I can’t expose them to that kind of risk, knowing that the Empire could capture and question them at any time! They would die and it would be my fault! How would you feel, knowing you had the death of your family on your conscience?”

“I wouldn’t know, as my family’s already dead,” Obi-Wan snapped.

She drew back, stung, feeling as though he’d slapped her. “Stop acting like this is my fault! I didn’t ask them to come here! You chose this place, you said it would be safe to hide out!”

“With your input, you said your family would be so grief-stricken they’d probably never return here!”

“I said it was unlikely,” she corrected shakily, “not that it was a sure thing. And what if Palpatine or an army of clones were to show up here? What would we do then? We’d face the identical choice and we would have to make a difficult decision. This is preparation, Obi-Wan!”

He flinched at the mention of the Emperor, but quickly recovered himself. “Then, we would be given much more advance warning.”

“How?”

“The dark side,” Obi-Wan explained. “I would sense it gathering around the planet far more intensely, likely even before he arrived, so we would have time to flee and make it look like we were never …”

His voice trailed off as something within her finally broke, some secret façade that she could maintain no longer. A tear dropped onto Luke’s blanket, and then another, and although Padmé cried silently, the pain and pressure of their situation was felt no less keenly by either partner. Luke whimpered and clutched at his mother’s shirt, disturbed by the clashing emotions.

Without further comment, Obi-Wan strode across the room and sat on the bed, enfolding Padmé and Luke in his arms. He held them as Padmé cried softly, occasionally massaging her back or murmuring platitudes that were intended to soothe them both. She sank into him, grateful for his presence, grateful for the comfort, but most of all grateful for him, for the one tiny moment in which he seemed to be himself again.

Then a door opened and closed downstairs, and that moment was instantly forgotten.

Padmé’s eyes found Obi-Wan’s. “What would you like to do?” he asked gently.

She swiped at her eyes, angry at herself for having lost control. “We tell them,” Padmé decided helplessly. “We reveal ourselves and we tell them. What other choice do we have? Everything you said was true. We don’t have time to escape.”

Obi-Wan sighed, running a tired hand over his face. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to be abrupt. I just –”

“I know,” she said, and they reversed roles with a touch of her hand on his. “I know,” Padmé said again, communicating nothing but understanding. “I apologize as well.”

The shadow passed over his eyes again. These days, it was never far away.

***

Jobal Naberrie was exhausted. She could not remember the last time she had slept uninterrupted, the nights inevitably being taken up with useless flashbacks and even more useless guilt trips. No one had explicitly blamed her for the lost years that her youngest daughter might otherwise have enjoyed (except perhaps Sola, and even she had not been able to maintain her anger for very long), but she made up for what was not spoken aloud by chastising herself almost constantly. No matter that she’d believed her decision at the time to be sound, that sparing Padmé from future heartbreak was more important than a momentary crush.

No: now all she could think about was the time she would now never be able to spend with her youngest. Padmé would never again sit down at their dining room table. Jobal would never cook and serve her daughter’s favourite foods in anticipation of her return from the Senate. She would never see her fall in love. She would never hold Padmé’s children. But most of all, she would never hug her daughter, kiss her cheek, stroke her hair, hear her laugh. She was gone, lying in a crypt outside Theed, and although Jobal had been able to heal most every hurt that her youngest had experienced, she could do nothing for this one.

Ruwee and Sola grieved too, though perhaps not as guiltily, and it was this that led them to worry over the Naberrie family’s matriarch. Jobal went about her daily tasks, but woodenly, as though her heart was simply not in it at all. Sola’s daughters still brought their grandmother joy, but along with that brief happiness came more crushing guilt. Father and daughter therefore decided that a distraction was in order. They took leave from their jobs, and Darred remained at home to care for Ryoo and Pooja. Sola, Ruwee and Jobal set off for Varykino in the hopes that re-visiting the place that Padmé had so loved in life would bring comfort now that she’d died.

Tears began to flow down Jobal’s cheeks as they approached the dock. “I just don’t know,” she whispered. “I just don’t know if I can do this. Maybe we should go back.”

“Come on, Mom,” Sola said gently, draping an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Would Padmé want us to abandon this place, just because she left us? No, she would want us to come back again and again. It might be the best way to remember her.”

“But there are so many memories. So many things we won’t ever be able to do again.”

“Memories are important,” Ruwee said, but he too was beginning to have second thoughts. He had underestimated how difficult the journey across the lake would be without Padmé, who always told jokes and splashed everyone with water to liven up an otherwise dull trip. It seemed to him that with her death, a very bright and peaceful light had been unfairly extinguished.

“Come on,” Sola said again as the boat bumped gently up against the dock. “Let’s get our stuff. Maybe we can take a swim in the lake later.”

“Perhaps,” replied Jobal without enthusiasm.

They got their bags and proceeded slowly up the stone steps leading to the balcony. As the door to the front hall opened, Jobal waited for the familiar musty scent to overwhelm her.

It did not come.

“That’s strange,” she remarked.

“What?” Sola asked.

“Well … there was always a certain sort of smell about this place, you know, when we’d had it closed up for awhile. It might just be my imagination, but … I don’t smell it now.”

Ruwee shrugged. “Perhaps the caretaker has been by to clean. I ask him to check up on it every once in awhile.”

“That might explain it, yes.”

She set down her luggage where she stood and headed into the living room, intent on nothing but collapsing onto the nearest couch. The journey had tired her greatly, both emotionally and physically.

But there was someone already sitting there. Someone who looked disturbingly like …

Jobal halted. “Padmé …?”

Padmé looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s me, Mom. I promise you it’s me.”

Jobal did the only sensible thing she could think of. She gasped, clapped one hand to her mouth, and fainted dead away.

Padmé was prepared for just such a reaction, and she leapt quickly from the couch to catch her mother as she fell, lowering her softly onto one of the cushions. She looked up as running footsteps announced her older sister’s presence.

Sola spotted Padmé and stopped with a gasp of her own, dropping the luggage in her arms unceremoniously to the floor.

“Ask me something,” Padmé said quickly before her sister could speak. “Ask me something only the real Padmé Amidala would know.”

Sola blinked, blinked again, opened her mouth, closed it, and then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, gasped out, “Um – um – uh – what was, um, you know that doll you had, that Mom and Dad gave you for your seventh birthday? What – um – what was her name?”

“Janina,” Padmé promptly replied. “After that best friend you had in fifth form – didn’t she eventually apply to become one of my handmaidens?”

“Oh my goddess, it is you,” Sola whispered faintly. She clutched the wall, looking as though she too might collapse to the floor.

Ruwee came presently through the door, having heard his wife’s and daughter’s exclamations. He turned pale so quickly that Padmé glanced down, expecting to see blood pooled at his feet. But no, he was simply shocked. “P-P-Padmé?” he stuttered disbelievingly. “By the Force – how can this be?”

She felt suddenly overwhelmed at seeing them there, her parents and sister, with whom she previously thought she would have to break all contact. In the rare moments Padmé had had to focus on herself – which were few and far between indeed – she had grieved for them as one would for a dearly-beloved set of relatives who had recently passed on. What galled Padmé the most was that they were not dead. No: so far as she’d known, they were perfectly well and healthy, but circumstances, horrible circumstances, were what stood between her and them.

And now, here they were, right in front of her. Silently, though she felt guilty for doing so, Padmé thanked the goddesses for this fact.

“Padmé,” Ruwee repeated, and she could stand it no longer. She leapt from the couch and threw herself across the room, into his arms. He looked slightly startled by this, as though not expecting her to be quite corporeal. But the moment soon passed and Ruwee was hugging her with all his might.

“Padmé,” he whispered, “my dear, sweet daughter. Oh, goddesses, can this be true?”

“It’s true, Daddy,” Sola squeezed out. She had made her way across to the still-unconscious Jobal and was shaking her gently. “I asked her something only she could have known, and she answered it correctly.”

Ruwee could do nothing more then but clutch his youngest desperately, and swear to himself that he would never again let her out of his sight.

***

It took a half an hour to convince Jobal that Padmé was really alive, despite all evidence promoting this conclusion. Even with Sola’s testimonies and Ruwee’s guarantees, the matriarch of the Naberrie family had had her hopes dashed so many times both in dreams and in reality that she was reluctant to believe this wasn’t just another cruel trick her subconscious was attempting to play. Over and over again Padmé reassured her, and again and again Jobal named people that she was sure Padmé must be – Sabé, Dormé, Eirtaé, just about every handmaiden whose services Padmé had employed during her tenures as Queen and Senator, and even a few old friends of hers whom she had not seen or spoken to in years.

It was only with Obi-Wan’s entrance that Jobal ended her protests, and even then she did something that no one present had been expecting of her. After pausing a moment, and turning from Sola to Padmé to Obi-Wan as though expecting someone to confess to the prank, she hurried across the room and embraced Obi-Wan as she might a favourite son.

He looked shocked. Padmé couldn’t blame him. Over their years together she had told him much of the story behind her parents’ refusal to allow her to write to him, and although he’d tried to understand their reasoning, still he had resolved to be cautious around them when next they met. So this unexpected display of affection was completely foreign to him.

Nervously he patted her on the back as she sobbed into his shoulder, trying to comprehend the mostly-unintelligible words she was muttering. Finally, though, he made them out, and they touched him beyond even the embrace.

She was thanking him. Thanking him for his service to the galaxy during the war years, for the devotion of the Jedi Order to peace and the reestablishment of proper government during the Trade Federation blockade, but most of all for her daughter’s life. She seemed to believe that he alone had saved Padmé during all the times she had been in danger. She thanked him too for making Padmé happy, and he thought he even heard an expression of hope that he might someday marry Jobal’s youngest daughter.

It was completely overwhelming.

More overwhelming was her reaction to the twins. While everyone was still getting situated for an inevitable long discussion, Luke began to cry, startling Padmé’s family. Another round of explanations was quickly required, and never had Padmé seen her mother so happy as when her new grandson was presented to her and her granddaughter described. During the ensuing conversation Luke sat contentedly on his grandmother’s lap, making not a sound.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t let you know before,” Padmé said apologetically once she’d made sure Luke was adequately fed and diapered. “It would have been too dangerous what with the Empire.”

“Say no more, dear; we completely understand.” Ruwee held up his hand. “These are such difficult times. We would have expected nothing less of you.”

“I just hate to think of what you must have gone through,” Padmé sighed.

“It was difficult,” Jobal nodded. “But in the end, I’m afraid it was best. It was an … accident of fortune, I suppose, that we ended up coming here. Personally I swore never to return, but your father and sister talked me into it.” She chuckled and looked fondly at Luke. “Now I’m not sure how I can ever adequately thank them for pushing me so hard. I had no idea my family had expanded like this.”

Padmé bit her lip. “I wanted to comm you, especially when I was pregnant, but I was just so terrified someone else would find out. And then everything else happened, and, well …” She trailed off with a sigh of her own.

“It’s better that you didn’t,” Ruwee said quickly. “It wasn’t two days after your, er, funeral when the Empire visited us.”

Both Padmé and Obi-Wan gasped.

“Not to worry – of course we told them, and truthfully, that we were not harbouring Jedi and that we had no idea as to the whereabouts of any survivors,” Jobal reassured them. “The official seemed to think that you, Obi-Wan, would have taken refuge at our house. He even searched it, brandishing some warrant which I’m sure he’d drawn up on the spot. That confirmed my suspicions that you were still alive, or else why would they be devoting such resources to finding you?”

Obi-Wan exchanged a troubled glance with Padmé. “So he knows,” he sighed. “Well, I suppose that takes away an advantage we never expected to have in the first place.”

“Besides, darling, it won’t do Palpatine much good now,” she reminded him. “So far as he’s aware, I died, and my unborn child with me. That leaves him to search only for you, and you could be anywhere.” Padmé glanced nervously at her parents. “At least, I’m assuming he thinks I’m dead.”

“Oh, he does,” Sola spoke up. “He declared an Empire-wide day of mourning in your honour, which I at least almost immediately dismissed. Load of claptrap, there was enough sugar and false sentimentality in his announcement to make an Ewok vomit. He’s just glad to have one more political opponent out of the way, if you ask me.”

Padmé was startled. She knew that her parents and sister had been staunch supporters of Palpatine even through the war, and couldn’t believe her sister was speaking in such terms – and her parents were nodding along. Then again, she supposed his turning the Republic into an Empire was enough to put off any democratically-minded Nubian.

“We did as well,” Jobal said, speaking for herself and her husband. “Well, of course, we couldn’t consciously support it, what with the atrocities Palpatine and his henchmen have apparently already committed. He seems to have given his second-in-command free reign to do whatever is required to keep resistance down. There’s even a special contingent of clone troops assigned to him.”

“And who is that second-in-command?” Padmé asked curiously.

Ruwee scratched his head. “I seem to recall that he goes by the name of Darth something. Darth Vader, I believe it was.”

She didn’t need to look over at Obi-Wan to know he had gone rigid. Padmé herself felt a sick, swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach, as though she had missed a step going downstairs. She swallowed several times, wondering how best to phrase her next question.

“Dear?” Jobal leaned forward in concern. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Padmé said softly as Obi-Wan’s hand snaked its way into hers. “Dad, um … are you sure that, uh, person’s name was Vader?”

Ruwee blinked. “Well, yes. This has all been very widely publicized; anyone can read about it on the HoloNet if they wish. Of course, it’s all very benign, dressed up and pitched to the public so they’ll accept it. All of these changes are supposedly for the good of the Empire and to make sure that security continues to be maintained. Once Palpatine painted the Jedi as traitors, he needed to do very little else to justify his actions. Many people actually believe that they tried to overthrow the Republic, and those who don’t … well, that’s where Vader comes in. There have been some very public executions. People are frightened.”

“He’s quite a shadowy figure, as well,” added Jobal. “That’s part of the mystique and the fear that’s built up around him, I think. In pictures he’s very tall, dressed all in black, wears this mask – that’s the other thing, no one can tell what he looks like – and is well-known for brutalizing his captives. They’re already calling him the Emperor’s Fist.”

“Excuse me, I hear Leia,” Obi-Wan blurted, and just as abruptly he stood and strode from the room, not pausing or glancing back.

Padmé sighed and bit her lip, knowing precisely why he was leaving, and also knowing that it had nothing to do with their daughter. She ached for him, and knew she must go to him, but how could she help? How could she get him to open up to her? How could she avoid becoming embroiled in the arguments that had so plagued them over the past months?

Jobal seemed to have noticed as well. “Padmé, are you sure you’re both all right? When Obi-Wan left he was white as a sheet and you don’t look much better.”

She longed suddenly to fall into her mother’s arms, to climb onto her lap as she would have done when she was six. She wanted to confess all of their problems, how Obi-Wan had seemed like a different person since Mustafar, and how for the first time, they were fighting practically every time they spoke to each other. How he wouldn’t talk to her, and she wanted so desperately to help but did not know what to do, and how she missed Anakin with all of her heart but didn’t want to discuss it with Obi-Wan for fear of dredging up unwanted memories. How they had barely so much as kissed for three months. How she watched him at night, tossing and turning in his endless nightmares, and felt so helpless. How she hated her new anonymity. But all of this seemed too personal, too private, to talk about.

But they were her parents. They loved her and she loved them and Force, how happy Padmé was to have them sitting there in front of her, when previously she had thought she would never see them again. If she was in trouble, they would want to know about it, and help her if they could.

“No,” she said, the glut of tears in her throat squeezing her voice down to a whisper. “No, I’m not. He isn’t either.”

In the smoothest of moves, Jobal passed Luke to Sola, and she and Ruwee strode across the room to enfold their daughter in their arms. They hugged, and they comforted, and they murmured soothing words.

But most of all, they listened.

They listened.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

One Day at a Time

Drawing a deep breath, Padmé reached for the doorknob of the bedroom she shared with Obi-Wan. She was nervous, but she finally felt as though maybe – maybe – she could handle the situation better than she had done in the past.

Talking to her parents and sister had helped immeasurably. Many of her difficulties, she now realized, stemmed from not being able to discuss the situation with anyone – anyone except Obi-Wan, who was not a terrific conversationalist these days. Besides, neither was he an impartial source of advice, being intimately connected with the situation in which they found themselves. But her family was not a party to the disagreements, so for once she could talk to them and have them understand.

In the end, it was Sola who had given her what she thought of as the best advice. “Don’t try to barge in and start a discussion right away,” her sister had said. “Many men, whether they’re Jedi or not, don’t like to talk about their emotions. I know you think it’s best for him to discuss these things, and it probably is, but you can’t make him do it if he isn’t ready. He’ll just get even more defensive because he’ll feel attacked.”

“So what should I do?” she’d asked nervously. “I don’t think Obi-Wan will ever open up on his own.”

“You might be surprised. Just be there for him. He trusts you, Padmé. I can tell. You should trust yourself.”

Armed with those words, Padmé had fed and changed Leia, then introduced her to her grandparents and aunt. Sola, Jobal and Ruwee were delighted, and Padmé had no doubt that the babies would be in good hands. She’d expected them to be a little shy around her family, but so far Luke and Leia seemed to be taking things in stride. They’d gurgled and blinked, gazing politely up at their new cadre of admirers as the Naberrie family argued over whom they most resembled.

“She definitely has Padmé’s nose,” Sola had exclaimed, stroking her niece’s cheek. “And I think her eyes are starting to change – look, don’t they seem a little more brown than blue? I remember Ryoo started to get Darred’s eyes when she was this age.”

“No, dear, she’s still a little too young for that,” Jobal had countered. “But don’t you think Luke looks like your father? See, his mouth is the same shape when he purses his lips like that …”

Padmé chuckled to herself, remembering. Then, with another deep breath and her family’s advice swirling in her mind, she pushed open the bedroom door.

He was there, as she had known he would be. The sheets and pillows on the bed were disheveled, as though someone had been tossing and turning within it. Obi-Wan stood by the window, arms tightly crossed, apparently contemplating the balcony and the outdoors beyond. He reminded her suddenly of Anakin, in a very similar pose three years ago, and Padmé bit her lip.

Silently she came up behind him, and wrapped her arms gently around his, resting her head on his shoulder. She pressed herself against him to complete the embrace, depositing two soft kisses at the nape of his neck. He shivered pleasantly but said nothing, choosing instead to lean into her arms. She waited, quiet.

Moments passed before Obi-Wan murmured, “You’re not talking.”

“No,” Padmé agreed. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just wish I’d realized that before.”

He didn’t speak, but relaxed significantly, and she realized he had been expecting her to question him. Again guilt coursed through her, and she wondered how many times Obi-Wan had tensed at her approach and had his fears subsequently fulfilled. “I’m sorry,” Padmé whispered. “I should have listened to you.”

Obi-Wan grasped her hand and squeezed; she squeezed back. “I shouldn’t have been so defensive,” he sighed.

“You had a right. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to hide … things … from you.”

They turned to each other in that moment, both having been struck by the same memory. Padmé voiced it first: “You know what this reminds me of? The space cruiser on the way back from Geonosis.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “We fought over something entirely ridiculous, I can’t even remember what it was now. And then we both started apologizing to each other.”

“I thought I was more to blame than you, and you tried to take all the credit for starting it,” Padmé added, laughing too. “I suppose we haven’t changed much.”

“Perhaps not,” Obi-Wan agreed. He was smiling now, a genuine smile that flooded her with warmth and simultaneously reminded her how much she had missed it. Them. Here, together like this, free for one moment of outside pressures and sadness.

The feeling increased as he turned slowly to face her, cupping her chin in both his hands and drawing her towards him for a gentle kiss. She responded carefully, sliding her arms up to wrap around him and deepen the embrace. They leaned on each other, enjoying the close contact, the renewed intimacy. Only when they both needed air did they break their kiss. Padmé drew Obi-Wan more tightly into her arms, rocking slowly from side to side in the hug as her hands massaged his back.

“I’ve missed us,” he whispered. She didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“Me too.” Padmé closed her eyes, sighing happily as she felt his fingers twining through her hair.

“It’s been a long while,” Obi-Wan murmured, and again she understood. “Not since before …”

This was the way they referred to the end of the war, with a loaded word that managed to say both so much and so little at once. Somehow they had begun to do so after the twins were born, and it seemed so much simpler to use a sort of code rather than to face all the memories that such a mention would inevitably bring up. However, that didn’t mean they were able to stop thinking of those recollections, and Padmé knew they were both doing so now.

“The twins are busy with Mom and Dad,” she said, to distract them. “We could …”

The sentence trailed awkwardly.

“We could,” he echoed.

Padmé paused as her fingers found a particularly tight knot of muscle in his back. “You’re so tense,” she remarked, kneading around it. “Would you like me to loosen this up a little?”

Obi-Wan blinked, and blinked again. “Erm – how?”

She smiled at the look on his face, a mixture of anticipation and confusion. Her fingers moved to his tunics and began undoing the top as she explained, “With a massage. I’m not as practiced as some, but if you let me try …”

“Ah, all right.” His expression relaxed so comically that Padmé chuckled.

“What were you expecting? Something else?” She winked.

“Perhaps. It has been a long while,” Obi-Wan pointed out mischievously.

Padmé laughed again, simply for the sheer joy of doing so. Right now, for this moment, they were free. She didn’t feel that they had to talk about Vader, or Mustafar, or Obi-Wan’s nightmares, or any of it. Right now they could pretend that none of it had happened, and that they were still the same people they had been before. Right now she could push him playfully onto the bed, and he could laugh too and pull his shirts off and lie there, bare-backed and delicious, and she would have no other concern but him. Once more she thanked her goddesses for sending her family to Varykino, and however guilty she would feel about it later, this moment was not about guilt. It was about Obi-Wan, and she, and their love.

She climbed onto the bed, straddling him and running her hands lightly over his back, feeling the interplay of smooth muscle and ridged spine. Impulsively Padmé leaned down to plant a series of kisses where her fingers touched. A shiver rippled through both of them and he chuckled.

“I didn’t know there was a special … technique to this.”

“Oh, there is,” she grinned. “Watch and learn, darling.”

“Don’t you mean, feel and learn?” he asked as she went to work in earnest. “Or am I supposed to feel and not think? Use my instincts? That’s one of the first tenets of Jedi – mmm, yesss,” Obi-Wan hissed as Padmé came upon another tough knot. “Right there, right … ohh, don’t stop.”

“Is that an order?” Padmé smiled as she kneaded the muscle with the flat of her hand, feeling it gradually unclench under her ministrations.

“It’s a plea,” Obi-Wan whispered breathlessly. “Don’t stop. Pleasepleaseplease don’t stop.”

She laughed. “Begging sounds good on you, you know.”

“Does it?” He grunted with pleasure as she found and diffused another tense area, then trailed her fingers down to the small of his back, probing gently but firmly for the clenches she knew would be there.

“You carry a lot of tension around in your body,” Padmé told him, pressing firmly with both palms on a particularly stubborn area.

Obi-Wan’s voice was languid and relaxed as he replied, “So do you, I’m sure. So does everyone.”

“Not like you.” She gazed unabashedly at him while she worked, noting the new scars and marks that had appeared on his skin. Padmé remembered memorizing every inch of his body in their first heady days together, each freckle and scar and mole, and carefully checking him over for new blemishes each time he came home from the war. Now, he had several new spots that she didn’t recall seeing, and a small scar across the back of his neck. She bent to kiss them, and caressed his cheek softly.

His eyes flicked open. “Mmm, hello. Finished?”

Padmé smiled, stroking his cheek. “Maybe. Unless you want me to do your front.”

“I think I’d like that very much.”

She shifted to one side as he turned, then climbed back astride him only to have him gently take her wrists and pull her down on top of him. Padmé lay with her head on his chest, laughing as she disentangled her arms from his. “I thought you wanted me to continue!”

“Perhaps I changed my mind.” His fingers, now sweaty against her skin, were working at her shirt and she rolled, allowing him to slide it languidly off. He held out his arms and she slipped back onto him, pillowing her head against his chest. From this new position she could feel distinct hardness pressing her thigh.

“You’re in a mood,” Padmé murmured, drawing her left hand down his shoulder and over his bicep.

“You started it.” Obi-Wan chuckled, and she could feel the vibrations against her cheek. “You and your massages.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” she shot back good-naturedly. Again his fingers drifted through her hair. “In fact, I bet you feel better now.”

“Much,” he agreed. “You’re an excellent distraction.”

She wiggled upwards until the top of her head was level with his chin, and pressed soft kisses into his collarbone. “You shouldn’t doubt my talents.”

“I never said I did.” Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around her and she smiled, secure in his embrace. “To do that would be … criminal.”

“It would.” Padmé sighed happily.

He took a breath, letting it out slowly so that she rose and fell. “So …?”

“So.” She moved again, undulating to press her thigh into the good hard spot between his legs, and got a solid groan for her efforts.

Convulsively he swallowed, taking gentle hold of her wrist and drifting it down his chest, to his stomach, swirling once around his navel before going lower, pushing her hand inside his pants. Her fingers closed around him and she stroked, softly. An incoherent grunt escaped him and she looked back to see he’d squeezed his eyes shut, bitten his lip so hard she wanted to soothe it.

“Maybe …” Obi-Wan whispered. “We could …”

“Maybe?” Padmé pulled her hand free and rolled teasingly away, grinning. “Well, if you’re not sure about it …”

No sooner had she settled onto her back than he was on top of her, his lips fastening to hers in desperate need. She smiled again at the prickle of his beard on her skin, remembering what this felt like, savouring it. When they were like this everything else could be forgotten, forgiven, put aside. Padmé relaxed under his warm weight, sighing softly as her arms wound around him and her breasts pressed into his chest. He kissed her face now, both cheeks and then her forehead and even her nose. In spite of herself she chuckled, and he smiled too.

“Beautiful,” murmured Obi-Wan.

“I can’t remember the last time I combed my hair.” Padmé rolled her eyes, more at herself than him. “And …”

“What?” He gazed at her, concerned, and drew soft fingers across her cheek.

She blushed. “I’m just – still not back to normal. I gained a lot of weight with the twins and … I haven’t lost all of it yet. I just feel like a mess sometimes, that’s all.”

“You aren’t a mess.” Obi-Wan’s smile was gentle. “And even if you were, why should it matter to me? I see you every day.”

“Yes, but you’ve also seen me as a queen,” Padmé pointed out. “And as a Senator. I assure you I combed my hair in those roles.” She wasn’t sure why she was voicing these worries now, but she felt suddenly exposed beneath his heated gaze. Her pre-pregnancy figure had not yet returned, and she hadn’t had much time to devote to her appearance anyway. She bit her lip, feeling yet more embarrassed for bringing it up.

“Ah, but this is a side of you only I am allowed to see.” He kissed her once more, sucking lightly on her lip to soothe the bite. “And I like that.”

She laughed. “You’d make a fair politician, you know.”

“Perish the thought.” Obi-Wan shuddered in mock horror. “No, I think I’ll leave that sort of thing to you. I’d just end up despising my own kind, which would be rather undiplomatic of me.”

“True,” Padmé smiled.

“And I stand by my earlier word: you are beautiful,” he whispered against her skin.

“Flatterer.” She chuckled, not meaning the accusation seriously, and forgetting it altogether a few seconds later as Obi-Wan kissed a line down her chest, to her stomach, finally hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her pants and tugging them gently down. She lifted her hips to discard them fully and came back down with a moan as she felt his hand brush her clit.

He massaged softly for a moment before slipping first one and then two fingers inside her. Padmé writhed breathlessly under his ministrations, equal parts thankful that she was fully healed and curious as to why they had waited so long to do this again. She spread her legs wide, already wet and ready for him. “Obi-Wan, please … need you …”

Jokingly he arched an eyebrow, rising to remove his pants. “Begging sounds rather good on you too.”

She was tempted to kick him, but chose laughter instead. “Just be quiet and get over here.”

“I like you when you’re assertive.”

“Oh, and you don’t like me at any other time?” Padmé joked.

Obi-Wan climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself over her. She arched upwards to meet him and both shuddered pleasantly as he slowly slid inside. “You know that isn’t true,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear delightfully.

“I’m teasing you,” she whispered back, the last word ending in a moan as he settled lightly on top of her and began to move, carefully, gently, getting both of them accustomed to sensations they hadn’t experienced in months.

She admired his restraint, for although he was beginning to sweat and pant, he didn’t alter the pace. He was slow, soft, cautious, waiting for her to make the next move, to say this was okay. A moment later Padmé had no idea why she was surprised; it had always been this way between them. She supposed perhaps she had forgotten.

Slowly she lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist, drawing him deeper inside her. Obi-Wan sighed her name, open-mouthed on her chest, and she reflected that no matter how many times he did that, it never failed to send a shiver juddering up her spine. Padmé closed her eyes against his kisses, luxuriating in his warm weight and the sensations engulfing her.

“Obi-Wan,” she said breathlessly, tangling her fingers in his hair as he stiffened slightly and kissed a trail down her neck. She wanted this to continue, never to end in fact, so that they could forget their problems and never have to discuss them. So that they could be together, without the intrusion of the past, without thoughts of the Empire or Palpatine or Anakin or …

No, Padmé told herself firmly, determined not to spoil this. Please, not now. Let me just have a break, this one bit of time.

She withdrew into the maelstrom of sensation, insulating herself, shielding herself, hearing Obi-Wan’s breath hitch as he quickened the pace of his thrusts. Warmth spread through her, the inevitable precursor to her climax, and she moaned almost obscenely, stifling a giggle as she realized how ridiculous she’d sounded. Padmé was not typically vocal during lovemaking, and although she had sought out the odd erotic holovid in her lifetime – usually while Obi-Wan had been away fighting the war – she held no illusions that the portrayals in those vids were in any way reflective of actual romantic encounters, and in fact she was often embarrassed by the wide array of loud grunts and groans holovid couples seemed to produce while in the act.

But now, Obi-Wan smiled encouragingly, and she remembered him telling her that he liked to hear her, even if the noises were not instinctual. She shut her eyes again and with another breath it was upon her, white-hot light, waves of pleasure making her moan again and clench around him.

He was moving still faster now and Padmé smiled in anticipation that he would follow her, that afterwards they would talk of anything but the past, anything but the issues that had been plaguing them for weeks.

Obi-Wan pulled out slowly, to lie beside her on the bed.

She opened her eyes, confusion tugging vaguely at her consciousness. “Darling?” Padmé asked hesitantly.

He turned to her with a bright smile, perhaps too bright, Padmé thought. “Mmm?”

She bit her lip, suddenly aware that pursuing a line of questioning at this moment would be too like what she had done before, too like what he had so dreaded on seeing her approach. Padmé sighed, and softened.

“Nothing.” She rolled towards him and moved over, pillowing her head on his chest. “It’s just … this is how I thought it would be when we were finally together after the war. Not like … not like how we’ve been.”

This was not the truth – or not entirely the truth – but she did not elaborate.

“I did as well.” Obi-Wan was breathing slowly, with almost forced calm.

Too slowly, she realized, for what they had just done. But simultaneously Padmé knew that she had no idea how to bring up the real topic, the actual question she wanted to ask. As it turned out, she didn’t need to worry.

“I should start meditating again,” Obi-Wan said suddenly.

Padmé arched an eyebrow. It was the first time either of them had broached that subject since her failed attempt several weeks ago. “Oh?” she said.

“I – erm – feel as though I’m losing my connection to the Living Force,” he explained awkwardly. “Recent … experiences have made me believe this.”

“Recent experiences?” she asked, confused.

There was a long pause, during which Padmé saw her opportunity.

“You didn’t …” Her sentence trailed.

Even lying on top of him, she could tell his hands had balled into fists. She waited, more determined than ever to follow her parents’ and sister’s advice about patience.

“No,” he said at length.

Gently she clasped his hand, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry. I – I guess I did notice.”

“It’s not your fault,” Obi-Wan said almost sharply. “It’s mine. You were right, I … should have been continuing to meditate, and – I didn’t, I stopped.”

“Are you sure that’s why?” Padmé asked.

“Well, why else would I not be able to –?” Now he allowed just a little of what he must have been feeling to show in his tone, and once more she ached for him. He had been through so much, they both had, and when they should have had a brief moment together to be intimate and to remember their love, even that had to be ruined. Why did it have to be this way?

“Maybe I can help,” she said softly.

“You?” His face was skeptical. “How can you help with –”

“Not with your meditation,” she interrupted, almost laughing. “I meant with – well –” Padmé gestured downwards, simultaneously running her hand lightly over his stomach.

“Padmé, I don’t think –” But whatever he had been about to say was suddenly drowned out by a piercing infant wail from downstairs. Padmé’s head jerked upwards, automatically and unconsciously attracted to the noise.

“They’re probably hungry,” she said apologetically. “I should go and see what’s wrong.”

“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan hastily replied. “I’m sure it’s been a long while for your family as well. And they’re strangers to the babies, so it’s likely they’re uncomfortable, wanting a familiar face.” He became aware that he was babbling, and blushed. “Go. Just – go.”

She bit her lip. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Sliding off the bed, Padmé pulled on a light robe, then, apparently aware that this might prompt her family to guess what she had been doing, discarded it in favour of the clothing she had been wearing previously.

“I’ll be right back,” she repeated, then smiled reassuringly at him and disappeared into the hallway.

Obi-Wan sighed, once again wadding up the blankets in a clenched fist and bringing his other hand up to punch the pillow. What was wrong with him? He’d never had this problem before, never! He had surmised to Padmé that the cause might be rooted in his failure to meditate, but in actuality he had no idea whether this was the case. Neither did he have any experience with such an embarrassing problem, so he hadn’t the first clue as to how to solve it.

Was meditation the answer? His problem seemed to be such a silly one to have, and yet given the nature of the Force, perhaps inevitable if a practitioner cut himself off from the energy field. Obi-Wan’s purpose in doing so had been twofold. First, there was the training bond he’d shared with Anakin, which, if engaged now, could be detrimental to Padmé and his young family. But there was also the simple fact that there were certain things he did not want to face. The same territory was covered so many times both in sleeping and waking hours – all of Obi-Wan’s failures, catalogued and paraded mockingly before him. When he slept, he saw the red security forcefields in the Theed palace power generator, the Dark predator pacing beyond, his Master – his father – crouched there, exhausted, waiting for help that would not come. He saw the red blade pierce Qui-Gon’s chest. He heard himself cry out in desperation as the older man toppled.

If not this, Obi-Wan witnessed another scene. He smelled Mustafar’s fire and melting stones. The acrid rank of burning flesh was mixed in, so pungent that in the dream he often retched. He gagged for another reason too – the knowledge that the smell came from his friend, his brother, and that Obi-Wan himself had been the one to inflict those injuries.

It did no good to tell himself that Anakin had died, that his friend had been slain by Vader. Especially not now, when he knew Vader to be alive. Obi-Wan had the horrific sense that one could not exist without the other, though he could not begin to surmise how Vader had survived losing all his limbs but one, and being burned severely over almost all of his body.

It was for all of these reasons that he had not turned to the Force, despite Yoda’s admonishment not to let the Jedi part of him slide, and the tantalizing prospect of speaking with Qui-Gon again. The risks seemed to far outweigh the benefits.

And yet … and yet this breaking from the Force did not appear to be bringing him the desired relief. It was not enough to feel secure, although security must be paramount at the moment. He longed to be free from the constant torment, from the nightmares and the memories – and yes, to see Qui-Gon once more.

But was all of that the cause of his current dilemma? From his earliest teachings he remembered the Force as being an energy field that both created and sustained life. Making love to Padmé certainly had the potential to create life, although this was not their intent every time. But perhaps to complete the process, one needed to connect oneself to the Force rather than denying its influence. Particularly for a Jedi.

But the memories – how could he stop the flood of memories? He recalled trying to meditate shortly after they had arrived at Varykino, thinking the peaceful environment would help his focus, only to be besieged with a deluge of recollections. It had only been Padmé’s entrance into the room, and her comforting presence, that had prevented him from drowning.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flew open in a sudden realization.

A centre.

He needed a centre, a focus.

Perhaps Padmé could help with his meditations after all.

***

“How is he?” Sola wanted to know.

Padmé sighed and shifted Leia slightly. The baby gazed up at her with huge eyes as she suckled, almost as though she too was listening to her mother’s every word, and wanted to know the answer to her aunt’s question.

“Better since I stopped asking questions, I suppose. But it’s like I told you before … Obi-Wan has a lot to deal with. His entire life has changed almost overnight.”

“And yours hasn’t?”

Another sigh. Padmé could certainly appreciate the irony. “Of course it has,” she said. “But it’s worse for him. Being a Jedi was all he’d ever experienced, from infancy. Even though I worked in politics, I could still come home to a family and grasp what it was like to be raised in one. Obi-Wan is only beginning to understand what I’ve known since I could walk. And he has to learn very quickly, since he’s got a family of his own now.” Fondly she stroked her daughter’s cheek.

“And there’s his experiences in the war,” murmured Sola.

“That’s especially hard,” Padmé nodded. “There’s so many things he won’t tell me about, that he’s only hinted at. I think remembering is just a little too much right now. I don’t know why I didn’t pick up on that earlier.”

Sola rose from the kitchen table to refill her teacup. “Well, you’re coming at this problem from two completely different directions, for a start. He’s been trained to release his emotions and repress if necessary, while you believe that talking is the best way to deal with grief – which is no less valid, mind you. But until he becomes used to the way things are usually done in families, you’re going to continue to work at cross-purposes. You both have to give a little. That’s just a basic tenet of relationships the galaxy over.”

“I know.” She smiled, understanding that her sister was only stating the facts. “That’s something we’ve been figuring out over the last few months, believe me.”

“I bet.” Sola sipped her tea and sat back down, frowning. “Listen, I probably shouldn’t be asking you this under the circumstances, but this – Vader person, did one or both of you have a personal connection to him? Just the looks on your faces when Mom mentioned it …”

Padmé hugged Leia closer. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Vader was an apprentice of Obi-Wan’s before he started working for the Emperor. We were all good friends.”

“Oh, Padmé. I’m so sorry.” Sola’s eyes were full of sympathy as she reached out to clasp her younger sister’s hand.

“Thank you.” She squeezed back and reached for her own as-yet untouched cup, taking a calming sip. “It’s harder for Obi-Wan than for me, because he knew Vader for far longer. They were as much brothers as they were Master and Apprentice. When Vader turned to the Dark Side, Obi-Wan was ordered to fight him and, if necessary, to kill him. We both tried to turn him back, but we couldn’t.” Padmé bit her lip. “I’m not sure if Obi-Wan will ever forgive himself for what he had to do. Or if he’ll ever reconcile Vader with the good person he used to be. I’m not sure if I ever will, either. I think there’s still good in Vader, and I told Obi-Wan so, but … it’s difficult to continue believing that after hearing of all the atrocities he’s committed.”

She was aware that it might be dangerous to confide in Sola this way, but it was so wonderful just to talk, to express her emotions, that she laid those concerns aside for the moment.

“I can hardly imagine,” Sola sighed. “And what about Anakin? He was another apprentice of Obi-Wan’s, wasn’t he? What happened to him?”

Here Padmé knew she could not tell her sister the truth, that Anakin and Vader were one and the same, for she knew that to possess such knowledge would be extremely dangerous. “He was killed near the end of the war. He’d been branded a Jedi rebel. We miss him very much.”

“A double blow.” The older woman shook her head. “I can understand why you’re both hurting so much.”

“It’s very hard,” Padmé acknowledged. “But I suppose it’s like you said before. All we can do is trust in each other, and keep learning the things we’re learning, and take things one day at a time.”

“One day at a time,” Sola echoed with a smile, and a reassuring nod.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

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It was with far less trepidation that Padmé opened her bedroom door later that night. True, Obi-Wan was still acting withdrawn – he’d appeared briefly for a dinner cooked by Jobal, and then made his excuses to slip away from the table – but she felt as though she at least had a better idea of how to handle the situation, and an outlet in which to confide. The twins had been put to bed shortly after the evening meal, and a promise extracted from Padmé by her family that all tasks except feeding would be left to them that night. Over her objections, it had been pointed out that she and Obi-Wan had been managing on their own for almost four months and that they would be better as parents if they could have the occasional period of respite. Besides, Jobal said, the babies didn’t seem to regard their grandparents and aunt as strangers (Obi-Wan replied that the Force might have something to do with this), giving the relatives free reign to dote on them as Naberries liked to do. At this Padmé couldn’t help but chuckle, and agree.

Now she wore a light smile as she stepped into the room, faltering slightly at the scene that met her eyes.

Obi-Wan sat cross-legged in the centre of the room, his eyes closed, dressed in only light tunic pants. He must have sensed her approach, however, for he turned towards her with a small smile.

“I can go, if you’re not – if you’re busy,” she said lamely.

“No, please.” He rose and strode across the room to clasp her hand gently. “Padmé, I – was wrong before. When I said that you couldn’t help me. You can.”

Her uncertainty blossomed back into a smile. “I told you I could.”

Obi-Wan chuckled lightly. “I’m sure you can, but I was thinking, and … I mean with the meditations as well.”

“Obi-Wan, I’m not a Jedi,” Padmé said skeptically. “I don’t know the first thing about meditation.”

“I understand,” he nodded. “And I’m not talking about that. I need … a centre. A focus. It’s something that’s taught to younglings when they’re first learning to meditate. Children have difficulty quieting their minds and attaining the proper level of emotional focus. And right now … that’s my problem as well.” Obi-Wan stared at his boots, suddenly looking embarrassed. “When I last tried to meditate, it was just after we’d arrived here. The rush of – of thoughts, of memories, it was too difficult to handle. And I felt foolish for failing. Meditation is such a basic skill …” He shrugged.

“It’s the foundation of your connection to the Force, right?” she asked. “Which is essentially all of my knowledge about it. I remember only what I was taught as part of my education about the Jedi.”

“You’re right, and I began to believe that I could do without it, contrary to all earlier teachings. Obviously, I’ve now realized … that isn’t the case.” Again Obi-Wan looked at his feet. He felt almost like a misbehaving Padawan.

“All right.” As ever, Padmé’s tone held no judgment as she pulled him into a gentle embrace. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

He took her hand and led her over to where he’d previously been sitting, guiding her to sit next to him, never letting go. “The process of entering into a meditative trance is simple enough,” Obi-Wan explained. “We’re taught certain breathing exercises, such that the trick is maintaining the trance, allowing the Force to flow through you and not to – hesitate – at whatever images it might present. When a Jedi uses a focus or a centre, he tries to be in visual or tactile contact with it at all times. So just –” he gestured at their linked hands “– hold on.”

“Okay.” She smiled reassuringly.

Obi-Wan sighed, knowing he needed to alert her of every eventuality. “And if I should lose consciousness, simply maintain that link until I wake up.”

“Hold on a minute.” Padmé’s brown eyes were bright with concern. “You mean there’s a chance you could – faint?”

“It’s a possibility,” he admitted grimly.

She shook her head nervously. “That sounds … dangerous.”

“It isn’t,” he said in what he hoped was as reassuring a tone as possible. “At times the psychic mind becomes overloaded with too many images, sensations, memories … especially if the subject hasn’t entered meditation for a time. The system simply shuts down, not unlike a malfunctioning computer. It’s the mind’s way of resetting itself.”

“If you say so,” Padmé replied dubiously. She still wasn’t sure she liked the idea of him falling over in a dead faint, nor that he had to subject himself to this in the first place. But she also knew that, as a Jedi, meditation was an essential part of his connection to the Force. The day’s earlier events had proved that beyond a doubt.

“You may see some of what I see in your mind,” Obi-Wan cautioned finally. “It’s just part of the link, but some of those images might be … disturbing.”

She bit her lip, liking the sounds of this less and less. “Obi-Wan … are you sure this is really necessary?”

He gazed at her, his eyes full of sympathy and, she thought, a grim determination.

“Silly question, sorry.” Padmé ducked her head, embarrassed.

Obi-Wan’s grip on her hand grew vicelike. “Darling, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but sometimes … I envy you for not being a Jedi.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. Finally she settled on, “Well, whatever happens, whether you succeed or fail, we will get through it together. I promise.”

He took a deep breath, his fingers kneading hers. “Right,” he said. “Some of the things you see may – er – surprise or – shock –”

“Obi-Wan, it’s all right,” Padmé interrupted. “You think I’ve never seen anything horrific or shocking before?”

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair and only succeeded in making it go four different directions. “I know – I just – right, now I’m only –”

“Delaying,” she smiled. “I know. Shall we get started?”

“Yes.” He stiffened, as though steeling himself against inevitable punishment, and then closed his eyes.

Padmé shut hers too, though he had not told her to do so, and was only slightly shocked to see her own face in her mind’s eye. A moment later she chastised herself for her surprise. After all, she was his centre, his focus, and so it was only natural that he should fixate on her while attempting to enter a meditative state.

Beside her his breathing grew slow, steady, as though he was sleeping. She saw several scenes of experiences they had shared – their embrace after Qui-Gon’s death, her hug on the transport before she and Anakin departed for Naboo, Obi-Wan clutching her hand during the Battle of Geonosis, their picnic in the Varykino field, the birth of the twins. A great calm stole over her and his grip on her hand grew less, although he did not let go.

The images swirled and they stood in a great forest, not unlike the one in which the alliance with the Gungans had been forged. Obi-Wan was beside her, and though he still held her hand, his attention was not focused on her. Instead, there was another … presence around them, unfamiliar to her at first. Then someone spoke, directly into her head, and from the expression on Obi-Wan’s face, he could hear it too.

Obi-Wan.

Master …? This was Obi-Wan’s own voice, also reverberating inside her head.

Yes. You are late.

Qui-Gon! Padmé realized suddenly.

I … apologize, Master. I’ve lately been failing in my duties as a Jedi. I have not meditated.

I know. The voice held no judgment, though Padmé thought she could sense a slight air of rebuke in the words. Yoda and I have been speaking of your absence in the Force. We were growing concerned.

She did not look at Obi-Wan, but sensed he might be blushing.

I can only offer my apologies. It was … irresponsible of me, Master.

Qui-Gon made no comment on these words of contrition. Instead, Padmé felt his attention re-focus on her.

I see you’ve brought a guest.

Yes, Master. She is my centre.

Ahh. There was a slight twinkle of amusement in the elder’s voice. I had wondered if there might be something between you.

Now she knew for sure that Obi-Wan was blushing. Not then, he quickly assured his superior. We were simply good friends. We did not become … involved … until after Geonosis.

I know. The amusement was stronger now. I have been watching you, Obi-Wan, ever since I was able to gain self-awareness in the Force. It is a most ancient secret, how one may retain one’s consciousness after one’s corporeal body no longer exists. And it is a skill I will teach you in time.

You’ve been watching me? There was confusion in Obi-Wan’s tone now.

Yes. In point of fact, I knew Padmé carried twins before she did.

MASTER! You weren’t –

A distinct chuckle reverberated through the forest, carried on the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the birds. I probed her signature, Obi-Wan, and interpreted what I saw. The night they were conceived, there was a great rending in the Force, and an overwhelming sense that one particular path had been chosen to the exclusion of all others. Through visions I realized that two distinct destinies now await your children. These futures were set and determined from the time of their conception.

Padmé swallowed, and she felt Obi-Wan stiffen.

And – what are those destinies?

I cannot tell you of the details at this moment. Non-interference is vitally important at this time. However, in general terms, one destiny posits that your children will work together and destroy the Emperor. In the other, they are tempted by the Dark Side, and become agents of evil.

NO! Anguish strangled Obi-Wan’s voice.

Padawan! The rebuke was sharp and unforgiving. It does little good to dwell in the future, as I once reminded you. Keep your attention on the here and now where it belongs.

But Master – my children –

I told you, you must stop this. We can only guide and interpret. We cannot choose for them. Just as Anakin chose his own path, so too will Luke and Leia. But they will have advantages that Anakin did not. They will be raised until adulthood in a family and they will learn the value of compassion and the tools of affection and love through the most direct means possible. We must focus on providing them with these values and tools rather than fretting about eventual outcomes.

I cannot help but worry, Master! They are my children and I love them!

Yes. But you must not allow yourself to become blinded by obsession with their destinies, Obi-Wan. Anakin chose his fate, and as a result he is now less than human, slave to the Empire he helped to create. He has chosen a path of misery by refusing to bow to the inevitable and allow the future to unfold as it may. Obi-Wan, should you also choose this path, all will be lost. I can do nothing to intervene.

A spike of fear shot through Obi-Wan. I have been trying not to venture down this path, he said, pleadingly.

Yes, and your efforts regarding Padmé have been most admirable. You have learned to love her and to show affection without setting yourself against the will of the Force. You must now do the same for Luke and Leia.

The response took several moments to come, but when it did, Obi-Wan seemed greatly chastened. Yes, Master.

It is a lesson I have great faith in your ability to learn, Qui-Gon assured him. And to begin, you must first release your guilt and grief concerning Anakin’s fate. They are acting as a barrier to your recovery and to your ability to maintain a clear mind.

Master, I – He seemed suddenly choked with desperation. I – I have tried.

Remember Master Yoda’s words: do, or do not. There is no try. Padmé has attempted to help you, but for the past months you have shut yourself away from all who care about you and to whom you are connected. You have refused her overtures and you will not discuss the incident. You are moving in precisely the wrong direction, and remaining this way will do you no good. In fact, already it is causing you harm, though perhaps you do not see it. You must stop this.

Padmé felt this assessment might be a little harsh, but she was well used to the Jedi doctrine on emotional detachment. She had obviously noticed Obi-Wan’s tendency to shut down emotionally when faced with feelings he did not like or was unused to handling. She knew he’d done it after she had stopped writing to him, as well as when she miscarried. Even subsequent to Qui-Gon’s death he was willing to grieve openly only in private, and had tried to project an aura of extreme normalcy and acceptance when Padmé accosted him following the battle. Her comfort had been the only thing that had drawn him out, and then for merely a short while. At the cremation ceremony, he had shed no tears at all.

And he was certainly repressing now. Except at the moment, Obi-Wan was simultaneously resisting all of her attempts to offer solace. It was only since her family had arrived that she was able to speak to him without the threat of conflict, and only after she had been the one to make concessions. Was Qui-Gon implying that this was the wrong thing to do?

I can’t, Master! Obi-Wan seemed suddenly defensive, not unlike how he had been when Padmé questioned him. You don’t understand! You wouldn’t understand!

Wouldn’t I? Qui-Gon’s tone was mild. Well, perhaps you could explain it to me, then.

Padmé sensed a mounting tension in Obi-Wan, also similar to what had happened during their confrontations. Do you know what I see every time I go to sleep? Do you know what haunts me when I stop to try and meditate? I see all the times I have failed, all the times I have not acted as I should have. I see your death in the generator pit. I see my capture on Geonosis. I see Padmé, in that – that medical bed, after she lost our first baby. And I see – I see Anakin, Vader, on Mustafar, burning, screaming that he hates me. If you had to see those sights, if you had to experience those things over and over until you wanted to tear your own eyes out of your head, then you wouldn’t let go either! You couldn’t let go!

This, Padawan, is precisely what I mean, Qui-Gon countered. This focus on the negative, on the things that you have been unable to achieve, is not healthy and it is holding you back. Even as you dwell on these events you seek to avoid them, as evidenced by your refusal to engage with those who love you and are concerned about you. This contradiction will eventually lead to your destruction, if you continue to follow your current path. Obi-Wan, I do not wish this to happen!

There was another long pause before Obi-Wan replied. Nor do I, Master.

I am glad you share my opinion, Qui-Gon congratulated. However, words alone are not sufficient to break the cycle. You must follow them with actions.

What actions? Obi-Wan asked nervously.

You must face up to what you have been trying to avoid. These dreams, these nightmares, are partially a result of your consciousness attempting to help you in this endeavor. You must accept the visions if you are to progress.

So I have to face – He stiffened again, and a palpable aura of fear permeated the air.

Yes. You must. It is the only way.

Padmé bit her lip, wondering if she should say something, wondering if she ought to object. She understood – or thought she did – all too well what Qui-Gon was proposing, and despite herself, she had distinct doubts about Obi-Wan’s ability to face the events in question over again.

He was already speaking, however, the words flowing jerkily into her mind as though each one had to be squeezed out. Master – how will I –

You will witness them as part of your meditations. Do not attempt to shield yourself from what the Force shows to you. It has a distinct purpose in doing so, and you would be wise to heed it.

No – Master, I CAN’T –

You can, and you must. You will not be alone – I will be watching you, and you have your centre with you. I have great faith in your abilities, Obi-Wan.

She sensed him about to make a sarcastic rejoinder – I don’t, perhaps – but before he could, the scene in front of them whirled, and Padmé felt herself being pulled down, down, Obi-Wan still firmly grasping her hand.

***

When next she opened her eyes, Padmé found she was standing in a plain chamber, power rods arrayed along the side and metal causeways arching overhead. She cast about desperately, trying to figure out where she was, and sensed movement in the corridor they now stood facing.

“No,” Obi-Wan whispered at her side.

“Darling?” she asked hesitantly. She hadn’t spoken to him before then, mainly because he had been interacting with Qui-Gon, but she needed to – had to – now. “Where are we?”

His voice flowed directly into her head again, and once more it seemed forced. “Theed. The palace power generation area.”

She gasped, understanding clicking immediately into place. Further details about their location began to seep into her consciousness, the wide tall hallway and the double doors ahead of them that were slowly parting. A blizzard of flying objects preceded the entrance of three combatants into the chamber. Two wore Jedi robes, and wielded blue and green lightsabers. The other dressed all in black, robes whipping around him as he ran and flipped and twirled his double-bladed red weapon. He was also clearly in control of the flying objects, which he flung at his opponents.

The security tapes had been thorough, but somehow they had not managed to convey the brutality of the fight, the dark feelings that orbited around the battling Sith, the way he could bend both nature and the Force to his command.

Nearly equal was the light projected by the Jedi as they allowed Maul’s Dark temptation to pass through them, releasing it into the Force and refusing to complete the circuit of evil.

Qui-Gon was the stronger duelist, having trained for far longer and applying the lessons that his Master, a gifted swordsman in his own right, had taught him, as well as the experience he had gleaned in his years as a Jedi. But no less determined was his apprentice, Obi-Wan, who matched Qui-Gon and the Sith stroke for stroke, stride for stride.

She had forgotten how young he looked. He seemed barely capable of wielding a lightsaber, let alone to face up to such evil. She supposed she herself couldn’t have looked any older, but it was still unsettling to see him like this, Padawan braid swinging from side to side as he staved off a barrage of parries, chops and slices from the Sith.

Obi-Wan had not spoken, though he gripped her hand increasingly tightly as the combatants moved past them, appearing not to notice him standing there with her as they pivoted to land on one of the upper causeways. The Jedi drove Maul relentlessly backwards, but it was he who seemed to be battering their defenses, seeking to separate them and keep them tripping over one another. Padawan and Master seemed wise to this technique, however, and they did not rise.

Then, as the Obi-Wan of the present swallowed hard beside her, the Obi-Wan of the past was pushed back suddenly, a strong Force shove that sent him ricocheting off the ramp and onto the one on which the Obi-Wan and Padmé of the present stood.

“This is when it happened,” Obi-Wan murmured to her as they watched his younger self tumble with a grunt, scoop up his saber and hurry to rejoin the battle.

“You fell behind …” she said softly.

“Yes.” His tone faltered. “I couldn’t catch up, and …”

Suddenly they found themselves soaring with the young Padawan as he boosted himself back to the upper causeway. Qui-Gon and the Sith were far ahead, continuing to fight as they neared –

“The melting pit,” Padmé exclaimed.

Obi-Wan put his arm around her shoulder as they glided forward with his past self, stopping just inside the pit as the laser-guided forcefields clicked into place. She could see the Dark warrior pacing, testing the forcefield with his lightsaber, glaring at Qui-Gon. The latter kneeled to meditate, ignoring the sweat trickling from his brow and his chest heaving in exhaustion. Far beyond she could see the younger Obi-Wan trapped behind the first laser wall.

Abruptly the forcefields began to vanish, and as soon as they had disappeared between Qui-Gon and Maul, the combatants sprang back into action. But Padmé’s focus was on Obi-Wan, who had begun running with his ignited lightsaber in his hand, a look of naked desperation on his face.

“Come on,” the Obi-Wan next to her pleaded. “Come on, you can run just … a little … faster …”

“Obi-Wan,” she said, gently patting his shoulder, “remember what Qui-Gon said. You can’t change what happens in these visions. You can only witness and interpret what you see.”

“Then what is the point –” This question was ground out from between clenched teeth. His grip on her hand was beginning to cut off circulation.

“Padmé is right,” came Qui-Gon’s voice in both their heads. “Nothing you say or do will change any of the facts of this vision. This exercise is about letting go.”

“I understand, Master.” His tone was slightly more firm. “I just –”

“It is difficult, yes. But you are able. My faith in your abilities is justified.”

Their attention was diverted by the renewed clicking of the laser forcefields and the younger Obi-Wan’s pounding footsteps. Those footsteps suddenly ceased, and he was left panting behind the remaining forcefield to watch his Master face the Sith alone.

Although the period of rest had helped Qui-Gon immeasurably, it was clear to everyone present that he was quickly approaching a state of collapse despite the aid of the Force. Even Padmé, who would never have called herself an expert when it came to dueling techniques, could see the series of small mistakes being made – the leg that was left unprotected for a long two seconds, the chop that missed its mark, the parry that only barely managed to deflect an oncoming blow. The Force rippled and curled in on itself with the sense of an imminent end.

And then, it came. A kick to the shin, a smack to the neck, and suddenly Qui-Gon had fallen, as Maul pulled out his blade from a neat scorch hole in the Jedi’s chest.

The long cry came from the throats of both the young Obi-Wan and the older, though they did not mirror one another. The Padawan let loose a loud scream of denial as he watched his Master crumple to the ground,, almost as if by the power of his voice alone he could prevent the blow from having been struck. Next to Padmé, however, there was a short gasp born of longing and desperation. She wrapped her arm around him fully now, her own eyes welling in sympathy. Somehow the security tapes had not managed to convey this emotional element.

Padmé watched the rest of the battle in a haze, her attention no longer focused on it but rather on her partner, who now stood stiff and unmoving, his posture that of the observer attempting to be impartial but failing miserably. He was shaking now, and his hand felt ice-cold to the touch. She hoped that Qui-Gon would not force him to view the events of Mustafar as well, having a deep sense that this would be too much for Obi-Wan.

The Padawan had leapt from the melting pit into which the Sith had pushed him, drawing his intent around him and bringing the fallen Jedi’s lightsaber to hand. In one smooth motion he spun, activated the green blade and bisected Maul, sending the Sith Lord toppling into the chasm.

Padmé looked over at the Master, surprised momentarily to see that he had squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “I can’t watch,” he muttered in answer to her unspoken question. “I’ve seen this too many times … once more will not change anything.”

She was tempted to disagree, to remind him of Qui-Gon’s words, but in the end, she didn’t have the heart. “All right,” Padmé murmured back, reaching out to stroke his cheek even though she was unsure if this would have an actual effect. She was determined to do so whether it did or not. “Don’t watch, then. To my mind you’ve seen more than enough.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan whispered brokenly.

The younger version of himself was now on the ground, cradling Qui-Gon in his arms, promising to fulfill his Master’s dying wish.

The life slid from the aged Jedi and the images began to swirl, the sobbing of the Padawan serving as a soundtrack to the dissolution. Then everything went dark, and they knew no more.

Abruptly Padmé opened her eyes. The empty bedroom stood before her, and Obi-Wan was next to her, slumped on the floor, his eyes squeezed shut.

***

Scenes and images drifted around him … feelings … thoughts … emotions … Padmé’s face … her voice … “It’s all right … to my mind you’ve seen more than enough …”

His eyes snapped open and simultaneously he realized he was trapped, there was something binding him, holding him there, touching his face …

“Stop – let go – please –” he exclaimed, attempting desperately to wiggle free. His throat was parched; the words came out in a croak.

“Obi-Wan, shh. You’re all right. You’re safe now.” It was her voice, coming from somewhere, but –

He glanced up and Padmé’s face swam into view. She was smiling softly, but worry lines creased her brow and there were dark circles under her eyes. Obi-Wan realized that the arms around him were hers – she held him gently, rubbing his back, her fingers coming up every so often to stroke his cheek.

“Just relax. You’re all right, I promise.” Padmé leaned down, planting a soft kiss on his lips.

Obi-Wan concentrated on breathing in and out, the simplest of relaxation exercises that he had been taught as a child. Gradually some of the tension left his body, and he cleared his throat.

“How long?”

“Only a few moments.” She brushed some hair away from his forehead. “The connection was broken right after we left the meditation scene, and I opened my eyes and saw you on the floor. No harm done.” Padmé looked faintly disturbed, however, and he knew the experience had been difficult for her as well.

“I’m –” he began.

“Sorry, I know,” Padmé laughed. “There you go again, feeling guilty for things that aren’t your fault. You told me this might happen, darling, so I had some warning. None of this is your responsibility, do you understand? I’m not blaming you.”

“I know.” He sighed, attempting to sit up. “It’s just – the meditations ought to be my responsibility, my own connection with the Force, and to bring someone else in –”

“Is perfectly understandable at this point,” she cut him off. “Obi-Wan, you know I want to help you, on whatever terms you’ll allow me to do so. I’m glad you trust me to enter your meditations with you.”

“You may change your mind after you witness Mustafar,” he warned, but only half-heartedly. In truth, he was equally glad to have her there. She was both a guiding light and a comfort.

“Can you stand?” Padmé asked presently. “I think you’d be more comfortable on the bed.”

“I think so.” Gripping her shoulder, he pulled himself to a sitting position, and then let her take his hand and lift him upwards. “I’ll be fine, I told you. It’s only a momentary loss of consciousness. The brain’s way of resetting itself.”

“I still say it sounds dangerous,” Padmé sighed with a shake of her head. She grasped his arm and helped him across the room to sit on the bed. “You look very pale.”

“I’m all right.” Obi-Wan shifted himself on top of the covers and smiled as she sat down next to him. “Very well connected to the Living Force,” he added with a wink.

“Is that so?” She laughed and took his hand in hers, kissing each finger. “After one meditation – most impressive, Master Kenobi.”

“I’m a very impressive person,” he wisecracked, shivering as her lips brushed his palm. “Impressive is my middle name.”

“Oh?” Padmé grinned. “Well, you may just have to prove it to me, then.” She laid his hand on top of his chest, brushing it downwards as he had done with hers earlier. “Let me go and check on the twins first, all right? This time I really will be right back.”

“Of course, darling.” Softly Obi-Wan caressed her face, drawing her down for a kiss that became a series of kisses once they were linked. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips.

“I know,” she murmured with a contented sigh as he twined his fingers through her hair. “I love you too … so very much.”

“I thought you were leaving,” he remarked a moment later, moving to embrace her so that once again she lay on his chest.

“Oh, I am,” Padmé chuckled. She tried to get up, but he held fast. “Although, it is awfully hard to move when someone is holding you in place,” she pointed out with another laugh.

“Who, me?” He stared at his arm in mock surprise, then frowned as though silently reprimanding it. “Goodness, I don’t know how that could have happened.”

“Sure.” She smacked his side, pretending seriousness, but could not maintain the illusion and burst into giggles. “Let me go, and I’ll make it worth your while.” Padmé batted her eyelashes seductively.

“Is that so?” Obi-Wan relinquished her immediately. “Well, you’ll have to prove that to me, then.”

“I will.” Padmé grinned as she slid off the bed. She kept the smile on her face as she walked to the door, and turned and winked as she disappeared into the hallway.

***

Luke and Leia were sleeping peacefully, their arms around each other as they might once have rested in the womb. In their early months of life, Padmé and Obi-Wan had experimented with keeping them in separate cribs, especially as one’s crying tended to wake the other, but they were still most comfortable when with each other, and their demeanors showed it. Luke fussed more when Leia wasn’t around, although when he was in Obi-Wan’s arms he was usually calm no matter what. Leia didn’t tend to cry unless one of her needs wasn’t being met, but when she did, her sobs ended more quickly if her brother was in glimpsing distance.

Padmé rested her arms on the side of their crib, entranced. So rarely did she stop just to look at her children like this that when the opportunity came along, she tended to seize it. We become so caught up in daily minutiae that we forget to stop and think, forget what’s really important, she reflected sadly. I’ve got to do this more often.

Luke snuffled in his sleep, and Padmé bent to stroke his cheek lightly. Not enough to wake him, just to run her finger along his soft skin, feeling the feathery whispers of his breath. At nearly four months old, his hair was beginning to grow, a shock of red that she suspected must have been inherited from some unknown ancestor of Obi-Wan’s. His facial expressions, too, were beginning to be sharply reminiscent of his father’s, especially when he was at rest. More often than not, she had looked down at her son’s face to see an expression identical to one she’d noticed on Obi-Wan, though Luke likely had little concept of what that expression might mean. His lips would tighten in just the same way, and he would cock an eyebrow and tilt his head as an adult might before pausing to speak. And although Padmé knew that all babies had blue eyes at birth, she could not help but notice that Luke’s eyes had taken on the exact colour and shade of Obi-Wan’s own over the past few weeks.

Leia, conversely, seemed a mirror of Padmé herself, but here again there were echoes of her father in her small face. Her nose, for a start, and Padmé was convinced Leia had Obi-Wan’s hands, the fingers lithe and nimble. Of course, these characteristics only encompassed the physical – she was sure that, as they grew, the twins would begin to demonstrate hints of their parents’ personalities even as they moved towards developing their own.

They are the future, Padmé thought as she continued to gaze at the infants. They could not know of this future now, young as they were, but Padmé had contemplated many times the responsibilities her children would one day bear, the expectations and the hope they would represent. Right now the galaxy lay in darkness, under the control of evil, and it would be partially up to Luke and Leia Kenobi, son and daughter of an Old Order Knight, to bring light and sustainability to a new Republic.

A noble goal, to be sure, but Padmé was well aware that such a predefined destiny carried its own risks. Even before she’d become a parent, she had been determined to let her children make their own choices, follow their own path, and this determination had only grown stronger with the twins’ birth. It was inherited to some degree from her parents, who had firmly believed that the ultimate life journey of a person should be set by the person him- or herself, so long as that journey did not bring pain or suffering to others. But it was also shaped by the extent to which Ruwee and Jobal had deviated from that belief in refusing to allow Padmé to become involved with Obi-Wan. She still regretted those lost years, and the obvious pain he had suffered when his communication with her was unceremoniously cut off. How many barriers might they have been able to break down sooner, so that they could snatch a larger portion of happiness before the Republic had collapsed into ruin? Padmé didn’t know, but she’d be damned if she was going to place similar restrictions on Luke and Leia. If and when they fell in love, she would not make any comment unless their chosen partners were overtly dangerous. And a person with whom friendly letters had been exchanged, and a fledgling romance developed, did not fit her definition of “overtly dangerous.”

The same applied to their Jedi training, at least to some extent. From a very early time in their lives, there would be expectations placed upon them – actually, there were already expectations placed on their tiny shoulders – and that was the fact of which Padmé was wary. She believed in the restoration of democracy and the toppling of Palpatine as much as Obi-Wan did, as much as Yoda or any of the Jedi had, but she wanted her children to share that ideal. It wouldn’t do if they charged off to war simply because their parents thought they should. If Luke and Leia took up arms against the Empire, they should do so because they believed that to govern beings by dictatorship was inherently wrong, and that Palpatine was a tyrant who needed to be deposed. Padmé did not intend to force her political views upon her children, but she hoped to raise them with the ability to think critically, and to examine the issues and make up their own minds what was to be done.

Balanced with all of that, though, was her fervent desire that they be allowed to live. At least while they were growing up, she never wanted to lose sight of the fact that they were children, and despite the burdens that would be heaped on them once they entered adulthood – perhaps even before – they should be given the right to run, to play, to giggle and to learn to swim and to tell jokes and to spend time with their parents. Not only would that contribute favourably to their development; it would also give them a healthy sense of precisely what they were fighting to preserve. Home, and family, and love, not only for themselves but for other beings in the galaxy as well. Padmé remembered how important that had been to Obi-Wan during the Clone Wars, particularly after she told him she was pregnant with the twins. Before he had left to hunt down General Grievous, he’d confided in her his private fear that many of the Jedi were losing focus, no longer able to see why the war they were fighting was important. Many simply seemed to want it over with, no matter who won. And while he certainly shared the desire for the conflict to end, he could not in good conscience believe that this end should come at any cost. She remembered, too, that he’d gently caressed her belly and told her that he was fighting for his family, which encompassed not only the friends he had in the Order, but also for her and their children.

Padmé wanted Luke and Leia to have those same deep connections, to family and to their friends and to each other. During the war, the question that had hovered on many beings’ lips was, “What about all this is worth saving?” She suspected that one couldn’t truly understand the answer unless one cared for others. Despite the teachings of the Force, Padmé well knew the desire to protect your loved ones from anything, to make sure that they came to no harm.

And yet, this precise need could be a double-edged sword of the cruelest variety. If nothing else, she had learned that in the preceding year. Wars were fought over the wish that everyone be safe, despite the fact that conflict made the galaxy inherently unsafe. Anakin had turned to the Dark Side because, as he explained it, he wanted to protect her from his nightmare, to spare Obi-Wan the pain of loss and the twins the difficulties of growing up without a mother. But through this decision he had caused them pain in any case. Padmé still felt desperate grief for Anakin, and Obi-Wan was nowhere close to the same person he had been before Mustafar. And though Luke and Leia were too young to understand, in time they too would know of Vader’s betrayal, and the anguish it had brought and would continue to bring to their parents.

Padmé sighed, mulling it all over in her mind. There were no easy answers. Perhaps there never would be. But was she wrong to want them, just for once?

That question, too, had no answer. She deposited a kiss on each baby’s cheek, then turned and headed back to the bedroom.

Obi-Wan was waiting.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Moments of Peace

“You were gone a long while,” Obi-Wan noted.

She couldn’t suppress a chuckle as she gazed at him. “Too long for you?”

He returned her smile, genuinely so, and it warmed her heart to see it. “No, I just wondered. I didn’t sense that they woke up.”

“They didn’t.” Padmé shook her head. “I was just … thinking.”

Obi-Wan combed his fingers through her hair. “About?”

“The future, mostly,” she said. “And … what Qui-Gon said today, about how the twins have a destiny.”

His smile faltered. “You heard — I mean, you remember what went on?”

“Most of it, yes.” Padmé nodded.

“Ah.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“I’m sorry if I … if it was an intrusion,” she murmured apologetically. “I’d say I couldn’t help it, but I guess I would be lying.”

“No, no, it’s all right,” he assured her quickly. “Some of those events I just wouldn’t wish on anyone.”

She pulled him closer; the motion was almost involuntary. “I’d seen the security tapes before, Obi-Wan. I knew what happened. Besides, remember what my mother says …”

“A burden shared is a burden lessened,” Obi-Wan completed. “Yes, I know.”

“And you can’t shield me from everything, much as I know you’d like to,” Padmé said. “Nor would I want to be. I can’t help you unless I understand what’s troubling you.”

“I know that too.” He ducked his head, tucking it under her chin and burrowing further into the semicircle of her arms.

“Anyway, Qui-Gon was saying Luke and Leia can follow one of two destinies; either they’ll defeat Palpatine or they’ll fall to the Dark Side. And I was thinking … even though I know those two possibilities exist, I don’t want our lives to be ruled by them.”

“The twins will need to be trained, darling,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“I know that too,” she echoed his words from a few moments earlier. “And I understand everything else as well, how they are the last hope of the Order and by extension the galaxy. But I don’t want them to grow up like that. I want them to have a chance to be children. I want to teach them to swim and to have picnics and to run in the fields and to ride shaaks …” Padmé broke off as another memory assaulted her, that of Anakin laughing in the Lake Country as he stood up bareback on one of the grazing creatures, then toppled and rolled with her in the grass. She shut her eyes, momentarily gathering her composure. “I just don’t want us to have any regrets. For a time after I miscarried, that’s all I had: regrets. I couldn’t help thinking of what could have been, what you would have done if I had carried that baby to term, all the ways our lives would have been different. I don’t want us to look back and to wonder … what if.”

Obi-Wan was silent for a long moment. “I think,” he said finally, “that there will always be certain things we’ll wonder. I imagine the answers to those questions as well, especially with regard to my own actions. In a very real sense, I believe that was the Force’s way of attempting to draw us together. Nothing happens by accident. But I wish I could have reacted differently beforehand so the sacrifice wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“You weren’t ready, darling,” Padmé objected. “And to be honest, neither was I. We were in love, but we weren’t ready to make the sacrifices that came along with that. I wasn’t ready to let you go, to let you be whoever you decided to be, to love you selflessly from a distance if I had to. I thought I was, but I wasn’t. And you weren’t sure how to integrate love with the part of the Jedi Code that prohibited attachment.”

“That’s a very wise way to put it, yes.”

“So perhaps the sacrifice was necessary, in a sense,” she continued. “Not that either of us could see it at the time. And I couldn’t see it for a long while afterwards. Now, I just want to let the twins become who they will be naturally, without doing it because they feel their parents are relying on them to finish what they couldn’t.”

“But they will be finishing what we couldn’t,” Obi-Wan said. “At least, if they become Jedi, or politicians, and work to defeat the Empire.”

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “You’d be willing to let your children become politicians?”

“Well, of course I — oh, be quiet,” he muttered as her grin spread and she began to laugh. “As long as whatever they do serves the good of the galaxy, I’ll be happy.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, I should record this moment!” Padmé chuckled. “Where’s my datapad?”

“Oh, no, no, no, come on —”

“Let’s see.” She mimed typing in midair. “On the second tenday of the eleventhmonth, Obi-Wan Kenobi said, and I quote, ‘At least, if they become Jedi or politicians, and work to defeat the Empire —’”

“Hey!” He ran his fingers up her side, smiling as she shivered. “I’ll tickle you into submission if I must,” Obi-Wan threatened.

“Oh, you wouldn’t!” she exclaimed.

“I would!” He curled his fingers threateningly into talons and got to his knees, stretching his arms toward her. Padmé shrieked and tried to move away, but Obi-Wan’s Jedi reflexes were too fast for her and he began tickling until she was laughing almost too hard to speak.

“O-Obi-Wan — please —” Padmé giggled. “Please — please — stoooop —”

“Say you take it back.” He was laughing too, in spite of himself, and so the threat came out in the midst of chuckles.

“You — you — you said it,” she gasped. “Why — why should I — take it back?”

He couldn’t come up with an answer to that one, so he simply continued his assault, moving his fingers up and down her sides and across her stomach to the sensitive spots directly under her breasts. At this she finally squeezed out, “All right — all right, I give up — I give up — you didn’t say — say anything …”

“And I did not say one word in support of Luke and Leia becoming politicians, did I?”

“No — no — you didn’t —”

“Very well.” Obi-Wan allowed her to roll away from him to one side and catch her breath.

They both continued to chuckle for several minutes before Padmé murmured, “Funny how you’re so opposed to the twins becoming politicians when in fact you fell in love with one.”

“That’s the Force’s fault,” Obi-Wan shrugged. “It brought us together. Who am I to refuse its promptings, even if you are a politician?”

Padmé sat up, a smile spreading slowly over her features. “But that means you trust me, correct?”

He blinked, momentarily wrongfooted. “Of course I trust you, darling.”

“Well —” She got to her knees. “Maybe you — shouldn’t!” In one smooth motion she grabbed her pillow, swung around with it and hit him full on the side.

“Padmé!” Obi-Wan exclaimed.

“Your senses lied,” she grinned, whacking him again. “Isn’t it poor strategy to trust an opponent when she’s down?”

“I —” He put his arm up, attempting to deflect the raining blows from her pillow. “Not when that opponent is so convincing and, er, beautiful!”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Padmé said cheerfully as she kept up her assault. “This is payback!”

Obi-Wan vaulted off the bed and out of her reach, grinning. “I beg to differ — this, m’lady, is war!”

Padmé leapt off the bed too, running around to deal him another blow, but before she could, Obi-Wan sank into the Force and wiggled his fingers slightly behind his back.

Unseen by his fellow combatant, another pillow rose off the bed seemingly of its own accord and followed her as she circled around. Then, as she was about to hit him again, the renegade pillow dealt her a swift whack to the side of the head.

“What —?” She spun, trying in vain to see what had hit her, and the Force brought the pillow into the air, once more out of her field of vision, to smack her again.

“Hey!” Padmé cried, whirling to face him. Obi-Wan quickly assumed an air of innocence. “Did you just —”

“Me?” He held up his empty hands. “What are you talking about?”

“Something hit me when I wasn’t looking!” she told him.

“Did it?” Another quirk of his finger lifted the pillow from where it had fallen and kept it moving, always managing to duck it just out of her field of vision as she turned around and around. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Obi-Wan!” she started, but was interrupted as the floating pillow slammed into her again. “You did do it!”

“Really? Now why would I ever want to do something like that?” He brought the pillow around to hover near his shoulder.

“Oh, is that so?” Padmé’s hands went to her hips. “Then who’s your friend?”

Obi-Wan turned and widened his eyes in apparent surprise. “Goodness! Now how do you suppose that could have gotten there?”

“I think I know,” Padmé began, but before she could go on, the pillow rocketed across the room, crashing straight into her.

Obi-Wan could no longer restrain himself and burst out laughing. “You — you shouldn’t trust me either,” he managed to say.

The pillow fell to the floor.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Padmé exclaimed. She scooped up his discarded weapon and rushed forward, pelting him with both. “No — fair — using — Force — tricks!” She punctuated each of her words with a pillow whack.

“All right, all right, I confess!” He held up his arms, trying once more to shield himself from her relentless attacks. “The opportunity was too good to pass up!”

“Oh it was, was it?” She continued to hit him. “That, Master Jedi, is what’s known as not — fighting — fair!”

“Oh, yes? Well, neither is this!” He lowered his arms suddenly and grasped her wrists to still her. She dropped both pillows as he tugged her down with him onto the bed.

Padmé shrieked again, laughter beginning to crack her stern façade. “Obi-Wan!”

“Come here.” He pulled her down even further until they were nearly nose-to-nose, their chests heaving with exertion and sweat beginning to bead their brows. He wrapped his arms around her back and pressed his lips to hers, turning their laughter into a desperate kiss.

She responded after only a moment’s hesitation, bringing her fingers up to tangle in his hair. He let out a soft moan of arousal as Padmé’s hands went to the top of his tunics, seeking the fastenings.

“I believe you were going to prove something to me,” she whispered breathily into his neck.

“I did, didn’t I?” Obi-Wan raised his hand to caress her cheek.

She captured each of his fingers in a soft kiss, her brown eyes alight with passion. “And just how shall we go about obtaining this proof?”

The question was legitimate, much as he wanted to pretend otherwise. He remembered she’d agreed to “help” him after their last failed encounter, but he felt stupid and incompetent for even needing to think about such assistance. Obi-Wan doubted that only one meditation would solve all his problems, but … was it unreasonable to place his faith in the Living Force? Qui-Gon had always counseled him to be conscious of it, though he didn’t think his Master had been referring to a circumstance such as this one.

He could feel himself blushing deeply, but sensed only kindness and concern from Padmé. “Let’s … try,” he said finally.

“All right,” she agreed instantly, running her hand down his cheek as he had done to her moments before. “This will be fulfilling for both of us, darling. No matter what, I promise you.”

Obi-Wan kissed her again, concealing his own nervousness, hating the idea that his body might betray him again. He had never been one to complain about fairness and unfairness; you could only follow the dictates of the Force, and if matters worked out in your favour, so much the better. If not, it was useless to protest. But his situation now seemed precisely that: unfair. He had gone through so much — they both had — that to deny them happiness in the few moments when they could seek it … well, wasn’t that the very definition of unfair?

Actually, he felt worse for Padmé than for himself. She put up with so much: raising the twins, letting go of her own family and her former life, dealing with him — for he knew he hadn’t been the easiest person to live with over the past months — and, of course, grappling with her own memories of and grief for Anakin. Yet through all of that, he had never once heard her complain. Since the boat ride through the Lake Country to the resort, she hadn’t raised a single objection to the life they were now forced to lead. She went about her daily business with the same fervor and dedication she’d shown towards her work in the Senate. Perhaps Padmé knew it would be pointless to pine for something that did not and could not exist any longer, but be that as it may, Obi-Wan had a sense that most sentient beings in her position would have carried on a long discourse about everything that was wrong and all that they’d been made to sacrifice. Living a life of simplicity and concealment might not have been alien to the Jedi, but it certainly was to most civilians, Padmé included.

Then again, he reminded himself, she’d had a lot to conceal even before the end of the war. Their relationship, for a start, and the twins once she became pregnant.

“What are you thinking about so seriously all of a sudden?” Her voice and touch brought him abruptly back to the present; she was smiling down at him as they kissed, combing her fingers lightly through his hair.

“You, of course.” Obi-Wan smiled stupidly.

“I should hope so!” Padmé laughed, teasing. “You just looked —” she twisted her face and her tone downwards “— very austere.”

“Oh?” He drew her closer, pressing his lips over her collarbone. “Well, I suppose I was just considering — how you’ve never complained. You know, about our situation, our new life.”

“Mmm.” She reacted to his touch, but the sound was also an acknowledgement. “I’ve never been one to do that, I suppose. Complaining about how our old lives are over now isn’t going to make them come back. It isn’t going to change anything. Reality is reality. You just need to accept that and move on.”

“But …” Obi-Wan bit his lip, sensing that he was inching perilously closer to soliciting her opinions on what it was like to live with him. “We’re not the same — well, people we once were.”

“Of course not,” Padmé said. “How could we be? But everyone is shaped by their experiences. Sometimes even for the better.”

Speak for yourself, he thought bitterly. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if that’s true.”

Her features softened; he sensed she was beginning to grasp what he was getting at. “Perhaps not in all cases. But I think eventually, if you’re a good person and if you’ve tried your best to do good things, your experiences will better you. Even if it’s a long road to get there.”

The question What if I’m not a good person? hovered on his tongue, but he forced it down, unable to bear speaking the words. He’d tried. But in the end, wasn’t a person also defined by their actions? And there, the question had a far more complex answer. He’d been given no choice. But there was always a choice. In the end he could have made a different decision. He could have done what was merciful, and spared many other innocent lives in the process. But to commit murder, which was essentially what killing the Sith (he refused to think Anakin and then thought it anyway) would have been, was against the Jedi Code. One did not kill unarmed and helpless prisoners.

But Yoda had ordered him to do so.

But one did not have to follow orders if those orders were not in line with one’s conscience.

But the entire war had been predicated on him doing things against his conscience. Why should this be any different?

It was. He couldn’t say why or how, only that it just was.

“Are you all right?” Padmé asked softly.

Obi-Wan couldn’t begrudge her the question. “Fine,” he mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“We don’t have to do this tonight. We could just go to sleep instead,” she suggested.

The idea of sleep sent a chill slithering unwillingly down his spine. It used to be such a pleasant word, the reward he’d earned after a difficult day, but it now meant something entirely different.

Screams. Self-recrimination. Fires. Death.

“No!” he blurted, more harshly than he’d intended to. She arched an eyebrow and Obi-Wan hurried to atone for his outburst. “I mean — I’m fine, I just — I was thinking, that’s all. Like you said.”

She sighed, still looking skeptical — though not, he soon realized, for the same reason. “When we do go to bed, you are going to sleep, aren’t you?”

“I —”

“Darling, you need your rest.” Padmé bit her lip, a guilty look crossing her face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to — to bother you.”

“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan said with a sigh of his own.

She eased herself down next to him, her back against his chest. “I worry about you, that’s all.”

“I know.” It felt better, embracing her like this. Subtly she had placed the control in his hands, allowing him to proceed at the time and pace of his choosing. Yet another example of how she gave him so much and expected little in return … which was why he couldn’t ever blame her for her concern. “I shouldn’t act the way I’ve been acting.”

“You have a right.”

They both chuckled as Obi-Wan began to ease the light robe off her shoulders. “Let’s not do that again,” he said with a small smile. “We’ll get into another argument over who’s most to blame for the fact that we’re arguing.”

“Sounds like my sister and I,” Padmé smiled, wriggling against him in a way he suddenly found irresistible. “We’d be fighting and Mom and Dad would tell us to stop, so we would start arguing about whether or not we’d been arguing.”

“And I bet you won every time.” His breath hitched as she repositioned herself, the robe now discarded, and he felt his trousers becoming almost painfully tight.

“Most often, yes,” Padmé replied, rising to relieve him of the pants. “I didn’t become a politician for nothing, you know.” She turned and they kissed briefly, passionately, desperately, losing themselves in each other as her brown curls brushed his chest intimately.

For that moment, he could forget, and it seemed so simple. So easy, as she lay down again and he ran his fingers lightly over her breasts, eliciting a needy moan. Everything else was secondary, had evaporated entirely in fact, when he was here with her and she was making those sounds … there was nothing but Padmé, and their love. That was how it should always be.

“Darling, if you’re ready … please …” Padmé whispered.

Obi-Wan had been waiting, and at this he took a long breath, angling her gently so that they aligned, and slowly slid inside, pressing soft kisses to the back of her neck. They shivered at the contact and she arched into him, delighting in his gasp. She took his hand, bringing it to her mouth and kissing the fingers lightly.

He set up a slow rhythm, always keeping her against him, listening to the pant of her breath in the silence. After the initial rush of sensation Obi-Wan now felt oddly detached, as though he was watching a holovid that really didn’t have much to do with him at all. He hated his mind for that thought, and immediately sought to banish it, speeding up his thrusts and trying once again to lose himself within Padmé. Her breathing quickened and she tensed slightly, the precursors to her inevitable climax.

Momentarily distracted, Obi-Wan focused on his partner, on her fulfillment. It had always been thus for him, simply because he could not imagine behaving otherwise — not showing any concern for other beings or refusing to put their welfare above his own. He could never understand those holovids in which the man climaxed first, to the exclusion of his lover. It seemed terribly selfish to him.

Padmé bucked her hips against him and with a final cry, clenched in her release. He held her while she shuddered, burying his face in her hair.

“Are you close?” she whispered as she finished.

He knew without needing to assess himself that he was not. He kept waiting for the familiar signs, the signals that had assailed him in every other encounter with her, but they were absent. Even as he reached, even as he thrust faster, even as he hoped desperately for the warmth to spread through his belly and his balls to coil up in their sac, he felt himself moving farther away from what was needed rather than closer.

“No,” Obi-Wan ground out from between clenched teeth. Again he knew that humiliation was etched on his face, making the situation infinitely worse.

A few more moments changed nothing, and finally he was forced to admit defeat. He pulled out with a jerk and rolled away from her, annoyance swelling within him.

“Darling?”

He sensed her over his shoulder, but said nothing.

Her hand reached his back in a gentle caress. “I’m sorry,” she murmured softly.

“I am too. Sorry that I was foolish enough to believe it would work.”

“You had to try,” Padmé objected.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan grumbled. “It would have been better if we’d waited.”

Her hand withdrew and the mattress shifted as she moved. “I don’t want to fight about this. It’s no one’s fault.”

“Well, you needn’t take the blame, darling.” He flung the endearment at her like an epithet. “Last I checked, the malfunction was completely mine.”

“No, Obi-Wan,” Padmé said firmly. “It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. Perhaps one meditation just isn’t enough.”

“Yes, and of course I’ll be very anxious to continue now I know Mustafar’s waiting for me,” he snapped.

She ignored this. “Or maybe we’re going about it the wrong way. Maybe instead of focusing on both of us, we should focus only on you.”

Obi-Wan punched his pillow in frustration and abruptly realized how upset he was getting. This wouldn’t do; in fact it was dangerous. He took a few deep breaths, relinquishing the emotions to the Force.

“What do you suggest?” he asked at length.

“Well …” Padmé trailed off, and he felt the mattress dip again with her motion to the end of the bed. “How about this?”

Her hand was on his inner thigh, moving upwards. A short gasp of air escaped him as she reached a particularly significant area.

“You mean —” He swallowed.

“Yes. If you’ll let me.”

Obi-Wan considered. “What makes you think this will work any better than …?”

“You won’t have to worry about me,” Padmé reminded him. “I’ve already been satisfied. Perhaps that would take some of the pressure off.”

“Perhaps,” he said. In fact, he didn’t believe her plan would succeed, but it might be best to give her the benefit of the doubt if only to provide the illusion that she was helping him. (Help I should not require in the first place, Obi-Wan thought bitterly.) “All right. Go ahead.”

She smiled reassuringly and repositioned herself so that she was sitting beside him. “I think,” Padmé said contemplatively, “that it’s time to continue your massage.”

She began from the top, running her fingers lightly over his shoulders and down his biceps to his arms and hands, stroking each finger softly and rubbing each of his hands between hers. Then back up to his right shoulder, pausing at a particularly vivid scar.

“When did you get this?” she asked worriedly.

“Lava rock,” he muttered. “They tend to cause burns.”

She made a little “oh” of concern and bent to kiss the spot, laving it softly with her tongue. This turned into a brief embrace as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tightly. He returned it, using her warm weight and comforting presence to rid himself of the unwelcome memories that had suddenly sprung to the surface.

“I love you,” Obi-Wan whispered.

“And I you,” she promised.

Padmé kissed his lips gently and then moved on, brushing her fingers over his chest, pausing to circle each nipple and rub it into a peak. She continued those circular motions on his stomach, around his navel and then lower, pausing at the line of auburn hair leading downwards.

“Relax, darling,” she encouraged. “You’re stiff as permacrete.”

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan said, realizing he’d indeed been holding himself rigid as though anticipating some sort of torture.

To his surprise she bypassed the area he believed needed the most attention, heading instead for his inner thighs and trickling her fingers down his legs. His breath hitched as she circled his thighs again.

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan whispered, pleadingly. He knew without even needing to look that he had hardened again.

“Patience,” she replied. Again her hands maddeningly circled his groin, pausing only briefly to comb through the soft hair before moving on.

Perhaps I was wrong, he thought with every remaining scrap of brain power. Perhaps I am being tortured.

He became almost certain of that assessment when she took him in hand, simultaneously running a finger lightly over his sac. He shuddered and gritted his teeth; the pleasure-pain was amazingly stimulating. Her touch was so light, so soft, that there was barely anything to feel — and therein lay its appeal.

Again Padmé made a fist around him and stroked upwards, barely touching, while she used her other hand to fondle him.

His hips came up to thrust almost without his consent, but the pleasure increased exponentially and he gasped.

“No, darling,” Padmé said gently, and next second she had placed one hand squarely on his left hip, not digging into his skin but more than enough to prevent any motion upwards. “Let me do this. Just relax.”

“Padmé —” he protested.

“You can do it.” Her smile was serene, but her words clearly dominant. His brow furrowed; he had rarely seen her like this.

He decided he liked it.

Padmé simply continued her ministrations, keeping one hand on his hip while the other continued to fist around his flesh, softly but insistently.

Pinpricks of pleasure darted up Obi-Wan’s spine, cutting off any objections his conscious mind might have tried to make. He knew without question that he had not experienced such sensation in his recent interludes with Padmé … perhaps relaxation and a removal of pressure really was the key.

Sweat beaded his brow and he grunted as her grip tightened, fingers continuing to move from head to base without pause, then reaching down to grasp briefly at his balls.

“Good, Obi-Wan,” Padmé murmured.

He looked at her questioningly and realized that the tip of her finger glinted with liquid. She lowered her hand and swirled it around the head of his cock; it came away wet once more with pre-cum.

A flush bombarded his cheeks, embarrassment rising at the idea that she should have to praise him for such a normative function.

“Sorry,” she sighed, licking her finger once more. “Touchy subject.”

He shook his head, not caring what she said as long as she continued her ministrations. His hands found the sheets and wadded them in fists, while his teeth sank deeply into his lip.

Padmé smiled encouragingly and picked up the pace slightly. And suddenly he felt it — the warmth, spreading throughout his stomach, drifting lower, his balls coiling within their sac. At the last moment she sped up, firming her touch and rolling him between her fingers. And he knew, knew it would happen, knew she had been successful, and only in that last moment did he relax.

And then it was over. With a grunt his climax was upon him, white pinwheels of sensation bursting behind his eyes as she milked him carefully. He kept his eyes closed for several minutes, enjoying the waves as they continued to crash over his body.

“Thank you,” he whispered presently, raising his eyelids to half-mast.

She had already found a cloth and was cleaning him gently. “Why are you thanking me? I hardly did anything.”

“It was your idea,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“Not really.” Padmé shrugged. “It was just logic. You don’t respond well to pressure, darling. You never have, since I’ve known you. So I thought, maybe if I took some of that pressure off …”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you’re a wonderful partner, Obi-Wan.” She drifted the cloth over his stomach a few more times. “You’re thoughtful and you care about the woman you’re with, such that you delay your own pleasure in favour of hers. And that’s a great thing — for your partner. But it’s like your attitude towards other things. You never put yourself first. You’re selfless, you’re the consummate Jedi. But sometimes one needs to think only of oneself. I agree with you that your connection to the Living Force is probably weakened. I also believe that once this problem started, you couldn’t stop ignoring my needs in favour of your own. So you resisted, and by the time you actually wanted it to happen, it was too late.”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan said bleakly. Privately he thought her assessment was an accurate one, but that begged a question: how to break the cycle?

Padmé crawled to the head of the bed, pulling him close. “It’s just something else we have to work on. Together.”

He nodded, too relaxed now to really worry much. His eyes drifted open and closed as he pillowed his head against her chest. “I’m afraid you know far too much about me, darling.”

“Do I?” She stroked his hair, positioning the blankets over them. “I’d make the same accusation of you, for me.”

“Mmm,” Obi-Wan murmured sleepily. His hand found hers under the covers and squeezed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh?” Padmé replied, kissing his cheek. “I must have misspoken.”

He still hadn’t let go of her hand when he drifted to sleep.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

The Bond

She woke hours later, abruptly realizing that something had disturbed her (though she could not say what). Padmé was about to begin cursing herself for falling asleep before she’d checked on the twins again, but she was distracted by a soft cry next to her.

Sweat beaded Obi-Wan’s brow and he tossed his head from side to side on the pillow as though trying to shake off some insect. His hand had left hers — in fact, he seemed to have rolled to the other side of the bed — and at first she thought he was awake, reacting to an actual threat.

“Obi-Wan?” Padmé choked out.

Then she saw his eyes were closed, his hands balled into fists. He gasped aloud and exclaimed, “Anakin, I —”

There was a pause, apparently while Anakin replied, and then Obi-Wan exclaimed, “You hurt her! How can you possibly deny that?” Another pause. “She loves democracy, as do I! You know that!”

Padmé had a horrible suspicion that these were words they’d spoken during the Mustafar battle.

“You must be a true Sith if you’re dealing in such absolutes,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “I will do what I must.”

“Obi-Wan.” She shook his shoulder urgently, now wanting to wake him before the dream went any further. Instead he wrenched himself away, as though her hand was on fire. “Darling, wake up,” Padmé urged.

He jolted again, this time jerking to the side of the bed and then, over the edge. She heard a thump, and scrambled to sit up.

Obi-Wan was rubbing his eyes, attempting to disentangle himself from the blankets. “I haven’t fallen out of bed since I was five years old,” he muttered.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Fine,” Obi-Wan replied, tacking a bright smile onto his face. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay.” She pulled herself back over to her side of the bed, making room for him. “I was … awake before.”

“Oh.” He climbed beside her and lay down, staring at the ceiling.

Padmé reached for his hand under the blankets; it was still sweaty.

“I did wake you, didn’t I,” Obi-Wan said at length.

“Darling, we don’t have to talk about it. You know that.”

He didn’t answer for several minutes. His hand trembled, as though he was struggling to keep control of himself. Finally Padmé moved closer, bringing her hand up to touch his cheek. It seemed to unclench something inside of him, for he shivered slightly.

“This time it was me,” Obi-Wan mumbled.

“What?” She blinked.

“I — I turned, because — because you chose Anakin,” he choked out.

“I chose Anakin?”

“Yes. He loved you, and you — loved him. You were still pregnant, but you said — you said you wanted him now, that you wanted to — rule at his side once he’d killed Palpatine. Then … it evolved into the Mustafar battle as it actually happened.” The last words were forced out in barely a whisper.

“Obi-Wan, you know your dream wouldn’t happen,” Padmé said gently.

“It could. I could … turn.” He wouldn’t look at her.

“No, you couldn’t. You have a family who cares about you. Who is not going to desert you,” she reminded him. “I love you and the twins love you and you saw my mother, even she respects you now. I can’t think of a Jedi who would be less likely to go to the Dark Side.”

“Before the war, I would have agreed with you,” Obi-Wan replied hollowly. “But so many Jedi — Anakin —”

Abruptly he turned away from her and curled in on himself, his shoulders beginning to convulse with grief.

A barrage of emotions assailed her, everything from her own sadness to pity for him that he still felt he needed to hide his pain from her, to anger that he should have to go through this in the first place. Padmé knew, though, that her own feelings were of little import at the moment. Biting her lip, she grasped his arms and carefully turned him towards her, sheltering him against her chest. She said nothing, not wanting to interrupt a rare and necessary release of emotion. It would make him feel better, even if he did not believe that right now, and might serve to purge them both of some of the grief they felt.

Padmé didn’t speak, merely continuing to hold him, occasionally stroking his hair. He didn’t make a sound or even a single motion beyond the slight shaking of his shoulders. She left him to it, feeling both proud of him and horribly inadequate at the same time.

And angry. It would be foolish to deny that. Most of her anger, as before, was directed towards Anakin or more specifically, Vader. How could he do this to us? she thought furiously. To me, and to Obi-Wan … to Obi-Wan! How could he think I would want this? Just to save me and the babies … I’d rather die than see Obi-Wan suffer like this. Ani, how could you?

She knew too, in a way, what Obi-Wan was talking about. Throughout the Clone Wars there had been whispers about Dark Jedi, and fears that anyone could be tempted, that the greatest of them could simply … snap. That one minute they’d be working for the good of the Republic and the next, become an agent of evil.

“This is ridiculous,” Obi-Wan whispered suddenly. “Cowardly.”

“What are you talking about?” Padmé asked.

“I gave in —” his voice was bitter “— to this, this emotion …”

“That’s never wrong,” she assured him, tightening her grip. “Grief, and pain … you’re only human.”

“I’m a Jedi,” he snapped. “We don’t — don’t — do this.”

“Nor do Jedi typically fall in love, yet here we are,” Padmé quipped.

“You and Yoda keep using that excuse. That’s all it is, an excuse. Something to absolve us of the natural responsibility we should have to accept. It is cowardly.” But his voice rose uncertainly on the last syllable, and she knew he was only parroting his training.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, you are not a coward,” she said firmly. “In fact, you’re one of the bravest people I know.”

“I’m not.” He shook his head.

“You are,” she countered. “Stop putting yourself down. Don’t you remember Geonosis? Dooku burned you so badly that you could hardly stand. But you still managed to throw a lightsaber to Anakin and to rise to meet Yoda. And in the war—I know violence and killing aren’t in your nature, but you did your duty. You did what was expected of you. How can you possibly say that doesn’t require courage?”

Obi-Wan snorted, a wet and ugly sound. “Uncontrolled emotion leads to the Dark Side.”

“But why did you insist that the twins be raised with their family?” Padmé persisted. “It wasn’t just because you knew I would protest. You knew that the old Jedi way was not the only one. You knew that Luke and Leia would need a solid grounding in the ways of family if they were to avoid making the mistakes of the old Order. You told me so. They need to know love, and yes, emotion, if they are to learn to deal with it properly.”

There was a long pause.

Finally he looked up at her, and the desperation in his eyes took her breath away. “Padmé … I can’t turn. I can’t.”

“You won’t.” She smiled. “There are too many people depending on you. And you’ve never been one to shirk your duty, Obi-Wan.”

“But if I do …”

“A very wise Jedi once told me that until the possible becomes actual, it is only a distraction,” Padmé said.

He sighed, pressing his hands to his eyelids and rubbing furiously. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“Well, I suppose if that’s the word you want to use —”

“So you agree, in other words.” Obi-Wan chuckled weakly.

“Maybe.” She turned his head gently to hers, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. The wetness of his tears was still clinging slightly to his beard, but he returned the embrace without hesitation. His hand came up to meet her cheek, caressing it with a fervor that surprised her. She suspected he was doing it partly to forget, but she made no protest.

She was about to ask him if he felt better when suddenly he stilled, as though listening to something beyond her power to perceive. A split second later, a piercing infant wail sounded from the nursery.

“Luke,” Padmé whispered, and turned away. “He’s probably hungry. I meant to check on them before I fell asleep, but —”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan nodded, “but I think it’s because of me.”

“You?” She looked at him questioningly but didn’t bother to pursue the issue, instead hurrying out of bed and down the hallway.

Luke was still wailing, tears streaming down his cheeks. Miraculously Leia still slept, despite her brother’s cries.

“Oh, Luke,” Padmé murmured, bending to lift the baby from his crib. “Come here.” She kissed his head softly, his warm weight comforting in her arms. “You wanted to see Mom’s face instead of Grandma or Grandpa?”

Luke sniffled and gripped her shoulder; his sobs quieted slightly but he kept whimpering.

“All right, little one, let’s go.” Padmé shifted him carefully so that he was more secure on her shoulder, then proceeded down the hallway back to her bedroom.

Obi-Wan was sitting up now, breathing deeply in what she suspected was some sort of relaxation exercise. He opened his eyes the moment she entered, however, and held out his arms for his son.

“Darling, I don’t know if —” Padmé broke off as Luke squirmed away from her shoulder, seemingly reaching instinctively towards his father. Puzzled now, she handed him over.

As soon as Obi-Wan’s arms closed around Luke, the infant stopped crying. It was as simple as though a switch had been flicked. He cuddled into his father, burying his face deeply in Obi-Wan’s sleep tunic.

She was even more confused now but said little, instead choosing to circle back to her side of the bed and climb in. She pulled the covers over herself and her partner, moving closer to him and gently stroking Luke’s head. The baby blinked, but did not look away from Obi-Wan’s face.

“Obi-Wan?” Padmé said tentatively. “What — what’s going on?”

“He’s not hungry,” Obi-Wan replied softly. “At least, not yet.”

“But he wouldn’t calm down until …” She trailed off. “Until I gave him to you.”

Luke gurgled and reached out a tiny hand, touching his father’s chest. The latter detached the small fingers and grasped them, making soft shushing noises.

“It’s a Force bond,” Obi-Wan explained at length. “The Force is very strong with the twins, as Yoda and I originally suspected. But it is especially so with Luke. There will eventually come a time when he far exceeds me in strength. That’s partially why he is such a threat to Palpatine. And some of his power relates to the ability to form Force bonds.”

“Force bonds?”

“An empathic connection,” he explained. “This is all conjecture, of course. If the Temple were still — I mean, if we could — test him for it — we would likely find this out for certain. This occurs only rarely, but it seems to fit with his behaviour.”

Padmé hadn’t missed the way he’d faltered when mentioning the Temple, and she moved even closer, allowing him to rest his head on her shoulder.

“He can form emotional bonds with people, which goes far beyond the usual types of attachments,” Obi-Wan went on. “It means that he can sense what they are thinking and particularly what they are feeling on a very deep and unconscious level. Such bonds are usually formed with those close to the individual, and … it would appear he’s formed one with me.”

“How?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. Force bonding was not very well understood by the Order, mainly because they were so wary of doing any sort of research about it. They believed that to do so would promote attachment, even though very few beings are actually capable of bonding. Those rare individuals who could were usually discouraged from following the dictates of these bonds. They usually were taught by several Masters so they wouldn’t bond with one, and then sent on solitary missions with little contact, to reduce the chances of the bond being activated.”

“Total isolation.” Padmé shivered. “It sounds lonely.”

“It was meant to encourage them to learn to control the bond. And it worked, most of the time.” Obi-Wan sighed. “I should know.”

“You —” She gazed down at him, comprehension suddenly dawning. “You can bond too.”

He nodded. “That’s right. The same procedures would have been followed for me, except that Master Yoda felt my destiny lay along a different path. He persuaded the Council to let me live as normal a life as possible, within Jedi parameters. Master Windu and the others had been all set to send me off to the AgriCorps when I was thirteen, having convinced other Masters not to take a chance on training me. It was only through Yoda’s efforts and my own desire to get Qui-Gon to notice me that they reversed their decision. Of course I bonded with him, which was one of the reasons it was so — difficult — for me when he was killed.”

“And Anakin …” she whispered. “And — and me …”

“Yes. And … yes. Qui-Gon taught me to manage the bond, for the most part, but even Yoda’s patience did not extend to the belief that I could manage a Padawan. I remember telling him that Qui-Gon had believed in Anakin, but what I was also trying to say was that Qui-Gon had believed in me. In my ability to restrain my gift, to prevent it from affecting my daily life. In the end the perceived need to train Anakin won out, and I was permitted to take him on as my student. Of course, the Council had been right. I bonded with him anyway.” He ran a tired hand across his temple. “And with you.”

“I’m sorry,” Padmé said, stricken. “I had no idea — if I had known —”

“You couldn’t have,” he cut her off. “I didn’t tell anyone. It’s … not exactly something I like to talk about. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you, but — I didn’t want you to see me differently or believe I was trying to coerce you somehow. I believed I could take care of the bond through one encounter, but that turned out not to be the case. I was motivated by the bond, yes, but also by something else. Love.”

“And the bond — caused that?”

“Not directly. The bond itself is not love. It merely signifies a deep connection, an ability to read emotions and to feel them as though they were your own. Love and affection are tied up in this, but they are more than its sum. They occur on their own, and the bond simply reinforces them.”

“So it becomes even more difficult for you to let go.” She kissed the top of his head gently, stroking her fingers along his cheek.

“Exactly. It is — likely one of the reasons for my difficulties in dealing with Ana —” His voice cracked, and he swallowed. “With the past.”

“I’m sorry,” Padmé whispered. “And now Luke is the same.”

“Yes. Evidently Force bonding can be hereditary, just as Force potential is. I shall have to teach him to manage it.”

She bit her lip, worry for him and for her son coursing through her. “Is that — possible?”

“To a certain extent,” Obi-Wan replied, shifting Luke gently so that the infant faced outwards. “It was more difficult and inconvenient for Jedi in the old Order, which prohibited all forms of attachment. The key to learning control over one’s bond is to simply accept it. It can’t be ignored or minimized. When the Council had its way, children were being taught that this part of themselves did not exist, and that it was to be denied at all times. Jedi were sent on solitary missions until they had been judged able to do that in the eyes of the Council.”

“And you —”

“I was lucky.” He chuckled humourlessly. “Once Yoda became aware of my bond, he argued that I ought to be treated differently, that I had the potential to serve as an example of how a Jedi could function even while accepting this part of himself. My early actions did nothing to change the Council’s opinions, especially since I left the Jedi Order for a time.”

She nodded, remembering what he had told her about resigning to lead a rebellion of young people on Melida/Daan. She’d had no idea that he had done so because of his bond, however.

“But when I returned and began making myself into an exemplary Jedi, the idea gained legitimacy. Particularly as I trained Anakin and schooled myself to let go of you. Of course, another test subject hadn’t come along, but everyone seemed to agree that the results were favourable.”

“So why is Qui-Gon doing what he’s doing?” Padmé asked. “Why is he forcing you to face these events when you’re suffering because of your bond? Doesn’t he remember?”

He wouldn’t look at her. “Of course he does. But he believes I’m using it as an excuse not to move on, not to discuss what happened.”

“Ah.” Her mouth quirked upwards in a wise smile. “And are you?”

The only response came from Luke, who cooed again and squirmed in Obi-Wan’s arms, kicking his legs in apparent excitement.

“Obi-Wan, you have to be honest with yourself as well as with me,” Padmé said gently.

“I’m — not,” he squeezed out at last. “I just don’t want to follow the wrong path. His path. The bond could make that easier.”

“You are not going to turn to the Dark Side, bond or no bond,” she firmly replied. “Anakin didn’t have that ability and he still turned. Perhaps the bond will even give you an advantage. If it helps you to form stronger connections and insights into what others are thinking, then taking the wrong path would be much less attractive. Right?”

“Perhaps.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Well, I believe in you. So does Luke. Right, sweetheart?” Padmé kept her tone deliberately light as she stroked Luke’s cheek. The infant turned to her with a bright smile.

“Luke will have to learn, just as I did,” Obi-Wan said with a heavy sigh. Abruptly he yawned, and stretched one arm while keeping the other securely around his son. “But not tonight.”

“Go back to sleep, darling. I’ll take care of him,” Padmé encouraged. “You look exhausted.”

Obi-Wan snorted, but shifted Luke to the centre of the bed, squarely between the two of them. Luke wiggled closer to his father with a soft whimper.

“He knows what he wants,” she laughed. “Or should I say, who he wants.”

“He can sense my emotions, that’s all,” Obi-Wan mumbled.

It’s not that difficult for me, either, Padmé thought, but she knew he’d already fallen asleep, so she said no more.

Instead she draped the covers over both of them and closed her eyes. Luke’s fingers curled tightly around her own.

***

The idea of Force bonds did not give Padmé much pause over the next number of days. Primarily this was because she simply accepted them, as with so many other aspects of the Jedi which were foreign to her. If she actually stopped to think about the concept, she realized that their existence explained a great many things about her relationship with Obi-Wan, and even some of Luke’s more bizarre behaviours. Obi-Wan’s reaction to Qui-Gon’s death, his spiraling grief after she cut off contact with him (and then again after she miscarried) and his strong reaction to Anakin’s fall were now understandable in a completely new light. She knew that the bond was not the same thing as pure love or as brotherhood — that it only enhanced these emotions — but enhanced them to a degree that made Obi-Wan uncomfortably aware of his best friend’s absence and the reasons for it. She felt even worse for him, if that was possible.

At the same time, Padmé wondered what the ramifications of possessing the same ability to bond would be for Luke. She realized she had already witnessed some of the effects of her son’s bond — how close he was with Obi-Wan, how he seemed to be able to sense when his father was in emotional distress, how he calmed as soon as he was put into his father’s arms. He had similar reactions to Leia, being happiest when he was with her and knowing when she was upset. But what would it be like for Luke as he grew older? Could Obi-Wan teach him the proper techniques to manage the bond? How would it affect him as an adult? Would Palpatine more easily manipulate him? Would he be more prone to turning to the Dark Side, as Obi-Wan seemed to believe?

She put these questions aside for the most part, however, because her life overall seemed to have suddenly become so much easier. Her parents and sister had no qualms about taking over the twins’ care when she and Obi-Wan needed a break. The babies preferred it when their parents fed, changed and interacted with them, but they were also growing used to their grandparents and aunt. Padmé continued to enjoy the presence of several confidants to whom she could talk about almost anything, which in turn gave her more patience with Obi-Wan and his moods. Knowing about the bond also helped her to understand him.

The twins themselves were growing and changing every day, and every day a little more of their personalities shone through. They could laugh now, cooing and babbling to each other and to Obi-Wan and Padmé. They loved to lie on the floor next to each other and play with their toys, and would shriek and giggle for hours if tickled.

Although Padmé still missed the Senate and her political life, she often found it difficult to think of those things when she entered the nursery in the morning to find her children smiling brightly at her, or when they laughed as she picked them up, or when Leia became fascinated with her hair and pulled it, grinning. Despite her devotion to duty, Padmé had wanted children for a long time, and the twins were a joy beyond her wildest hopes. There were still difficult moments, of course — Leia was very opinionated already, and there were days when she simply could not be soothed; Luke still exhibited a tendency to whine and fuss even when nothing was perceptibly wrong — but these paled in comparison to the early months. Looking back on those, Padmé wondered how she had survived.

Problems existed that had nothing to do with the babies, however, and unfortunately Obi-Wan remained a source of some of these. He meditated occasionally, with Padmé’s continued assistance, but she noticed that he had never gone into as deep a trance as the first time, and Qui-Gon lurked only on the fringes of these sessions. He had not experienced any more visions.

Therefore, despite the continued meditations, or perhaps because of their sparseness, Obi-Wan resisted intimacy. Padmé’s parents made sure the couple had adequate time together, but he would never initiate anything beyond kissing and touching at these times. And on the rare occasions when Padmé did take their encounters further, he was never able to reach climax as he made love to her. She tried to tell him that she didn’t mind, that she was more than happy to “help” him afterwards, but this didn’t appear to matter, and after awhile she got the sense that he was only agreeing because he wanted to make her happy. Guilt gripped her at this thought, and she stopped trying to initiate their encounters — though she never stopped offering to bring him to satisfaction.

Other, more troubling issues continued. Obi-Wan kept having nightmares, and although he was more open with her both about their occurrence and their contents, the very fact that they continued was alarming to her. So was the knowledge that his reluctance to meditate might be impeding his progress. And yet, she didn’t really have anyone to discuss this with; it seemed too personal for her family and too difficult to speak with Obi-Wan himself about it.

But she couldn’t think of any of this now, not when she was in the kitchen with her mother, feeding Leia while Jobal bustled about making lunch. Padmé could only smile, and relax, and reflect on how comforting this was. Just like how it had been when she was a little girl being helped with her homework and asked about her day at school. Only now, she was a mother herself. The disconnect felt bizarre.

“Now, dear, I don’t mean to pry, of course,” Jobal said as she slid a pan onto the stove. “I’d be lying if I said we weren’t wondering, though, your father and I. Do you and Obi-Wan have plans?”

Padmé blinked. “Plans, Mom?”

“You see, I’ve had my mother of the bride dress picked out for ages …”

“Oh! Wedding plans! Well — sort of,” Padmé said. “He proposed, so I suppose you could say we’re engaged.”

“Oh, Padmé, you’ve been holding out on me!” Jobal exclaimed, hurrying across the room to embrace her daughter. “Oops, I’m squishing Leia. But congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Padmé replied, blushing slightly. “Obi-Wan asked me a long time ago, actually, while I was still pregnant. We had some vague plans to come back here and have a ceremony, but then everything else happened, and we weren’t sure when and whether we’d be able to. We just couldn’t tell anyone where we were or who we were. If you hadn’t shown up, we wouldn’t even have told you.”

“I know, dear.” Jobal put her hand to her mouth, thinking. “You’d need a holy man, of course, but I’m sure Father Proxollo could be trusted.”

Padmé smiled at the mention of Proxollo, the holy man who had served their family ever since she could remember. She was sure, though, that Obi-Wan would raise questions. “Are you sure, Mom? I mean, I know he’s trustworthy, but I wouldn’t want to put him in danger if the Empire ever started looking for us.”

Jobal waved a hand in the air as if it were nothing to worry about. “Oh, don’t concern yourself with that. You know he’s reliable, and he would never give away your location. It would be more than his life was worth to tell anyone.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Padmé sighed.

“Well, don’t,” Jobal smiled. “Now what about your dress? Your veil? Sola could be your lady’s maid, and your father and I could give you away, and — oh, let’s not forget the unity candle!”

Padmé chuckled to herself and gently disengaged Leia, hoisting the baby to her shoulder for a burp. She patted her daughter’s back carefully, returning her attention to her mother.

“… and of course there’s the flowers, and the food, and the décor, and obviously the little details like the cake and the devotion gifts and the wedding rings — did he give you a promise band?”

“No, he didn’t really have anything to give me,” Padmé replied. “Jedi aren’t supposed to have possessions, so all I had was his word. Not that it meant any less to me, really.”

“Oh, no matter,” Jobal said airily. “But we need to make plans, start setting a date — would a sixweek from now be all right?”

Padmé buckled Leia into an infant seat on the table and rocked it gently back and forth. “I don’t know, Mom. I suppose so. To tell the truth, wedding plans haven’t exactly been foremost in my mind. Not to mention I’m still trying to get over the fact that you’re encouraging me to marry Obi-Wan.”

Jobal laughed, then abruptly became very serious. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Two years ago I would never have thought I’d be in this position either. But priorities change, and times change.”

Padmé sighed and tucked her legs underneath her. “They do. People change as well.”

“Yes.” Her mother nodded. “He’s much more withdrawn than I remember him. Obi-Wan, I mean.”

“Well, he’s been through a lot. We both have.”

“How are you all coping with that?” Jobal asked kindly. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if your father had been ordered to fight in the war.”

Padmé considered. “All right. Better than we were before you arrived. It’s one of the reasons we haven’t thought about the wedding. We’ve been too wrapped up in ourselves and the babies.”

“Well, hopefully this will be a nice break for you,” Jobal replied. “Now, you run and get Obi-Wan for lunch, I’ll watch Leia.”

Padmé had a feeling that her mother was only sending her off on this errand so she could check on him. But she didn’t mind so much — perhaps the time had finally come to talk to Obi-Wan about the wedding.

He was sitting on their bedroom balcony when she found him, Luke in his arms and a relatively peaceful expression on his face.

She sat down near him, not speaking at first, and felt his hand slip softly into hers. His fingers kneaded her palm lightly and traced each joint and knuckle, gently massaging. Luke shot her a wide smile.

“I have to warn you when you go downstairs, Mom’s in full wedding mode,” Padmé said.

His face fell a little. “You told her?”

“I didn’t have a choice, Obi-Wan, she wormed it out of me,” explained Padmé. “Besides, she was going to find out sooner or later, regardless.” She paused. “Why, what sort of ceremony did you want?”

“I don’t know.” Obi-Wan tugged his hand momentarily away to reposition Luke on his lap. “To be honest, my knowledge of marriage ceremonies is limited to what I’ve studied. I want whatever you want, I suppose.”

“You just seemed surprised, that’s all.”

“I am,” he admitted. “Wedding planning isn’t foremost in my mind at the moment.”

“That’s what I said,” she chuckled. “But … it would be nice to have Mom and Dad and Sola there. That’s how I always pictured it would be.”

“And what else? You seem to have thought this out in rather a lot of detail.” He winked.

“All little girls do that. Especially on Naboo. Speculating about one’s wedding is a major occupation when you’re ten or eleven.”

“Bizarre.” Obi-Wan shook his head, looking flummoxed. “I can’t imagine Siri or Aayla ever having been preoccupied like that.”

She smacked him good-naturedly. “Well, not if you’re a Jedi! But us commoners have some strange customs, after all. I had my entire ceremony planned out by the time I was thirteen.”

“An odd occupation for a politician,” he retorted.

“Hey, even politicians have outside interests!”

“Sure,” Obi-Wan chuckled. “Why not?”

“Oh, come on, you’re trying to tell me that you never thought of how our ceremony might go after you proposed?” Padmé asked.

“Can’t say as I did, no.” He was watching her with one of his typical dryly amused smiles.

“Men!” Padmé huffed, pretending to be annoyed.

“You’re as bad as your mother,” Obi-Wan said. The grin hadn’t left his face. “I believe we’re being slandered, Luke. What do you think?”

“Ga!” Luke exclaimed, having absolutely no idea what his father was talking about.

“Yes, that’s right, I think this does call for intervention. Let me show you a useful little trick.”

Before Padmé could respond, Obi-Wan wiggled his fingers slightly and her chair took flight, coming to land as close to his as possible. He leaned over and draped his free arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him for a kiss.

She laughed against his lips but responded readily. “I think you’re trying to distract me, Master Kenobi.”

“Well, I’ve got to use all the tools at my disposal, don’t I?” Obi-Wan quipped, moving closer so that her head rested on his shoulder. “And distraction is a very effective tool.”

“Mmm, it is.” Her lips brushed the top of Luke’s head as the baby wiggled against her and pressed his hand into hers. “But I haven’t forgotten, you know.”

“No, of course you haven’t.” He sighed in mock frustration. “All right, when is this grand event supposed to take place?”

“We didn’t decide on a firm date, but we think perhaps six tendays from now.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Obi-Wan said. “And I expect it will be a private ceremony? With your parents and Sola and Luke and Leia, obviously.”

“And the holy man,” Padmé reminded him.

“Wait a moment.” He sat up, suddenly looking nervous. “But we can’t — unless you aren’t planning to tell him who we really are?”

“Well, of course I am!” she exclaimed. “Obi-Wan, he can’t marry us unless he knows who we are!”

“But he could give away our location if he knows our true identities! Besides, won’t it seem strange to him, marrying a couple in which the woman is supposedly dead?”

“Look, I know there are problems,” Padmé said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder in an attempt to placate him. “We’ll have to figure something out. But for the marriage to be legal and binding, we must use our real names. And I was really hoping that my family’s holy man would officiate. Mom says he’s trustworthy, that he won’t give us away.”

“Things have changed, Padmé, regardless of what your mother thinks,” Obi-Wan replied. “These days, beings may not have a choice as to whether they can withhold information. If the Empire wants to know something, they will find a way. Do you really believe this person can stand up to that? To say nothing of the threat posed to him.”

She felt a clench around her heart; this was the same argument used against her parents being made aware that her death had been faked. Aside from the threat to Obi-Wan and Padmé’s security, she could not picture exposing her parents and her sister’s family to that level of risk. And it seemed as though this had been a prudent idea — her mother had, after all, told them that an Imperial official visited the Naberrie home after the funeral and leveled accusations of harboring Jedi. Would the Empire really pursue their holy man in such a zealous fashion?

“There is still a lot of respect for the clergy on Naboo,” she attempted. “No one has ever tried to target them for interrogation. I imagine they’d face quite an opposition if they did. Palpatine is a native Nubian, he’ll know this.”

“But would it stop him?”

“Perhaps not,” Padmé admitted. “But if it didn’t, there would be a big uprising. His hold on the Empire is tenuous right now; he doesn’t want to risk provoking a rebellion. Especially not from his home planet.”

“Indeed.” Obi-Wan was still shaking his head and looking skeptical. Luke gazed from one parent to the other, nervously sensing the currents of conflict in the Force.

“Please, darling,” she whispered. “You promised me that we would find a way. You said when we arrived here that we would still get married. We have the perfect opportunity right in front of us — how can we waste it?”

He was silent for several moments, apparently mulling the question over. “I just want us to be safe,” Obi-Wan said finally. “I want you to be safe.”

“I know.” She reached out, caressing his face softly. “I want that too. But I don’t want the Empire to rule everything we do. What sort of a life is that?”

“I know,” he echoed, leaning into her touch. “We shouldn’t centre on our fears.”

“Exactly,” Padmé smiled.

Obi-Wan turned to her, a light smile beginning to spread over his face.

“All right. Let’s get married.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Pro Patria Mori

The planning had begun. The Naberries were alight with excitement, and immediately plunged into the project with a high degree of enthusiasm. Neither Padmé nor Obi-Wan could go anywhere in the resort without someone questioning them about some detail of the ceremony or the reception that would be held afterwards. Padmé fielded queries about her flower preferences, what she wanted her dress to look like, which flavour of nuptial cake she desired and what she wished to be served at dinner. Obi-Wan, meanwhile, found himself faced with a bewildering and alien array of decisions to make — what words would be spoken at the ceremony, what the rings of eternity would look like, what time of the day the marriage would take place and even what clothing he would wear. It was only that last point that did not give him any pause: he figured that if he was going to do this, he may as well do it properly and be married in full Jedi robes, complete with cloak. Luckily he had a spare set tucked away in the closet of his and Padmé’s room.

Padmé drifted through the preparations, feeling as though she was in the midst of some wonderful dream. This dream, alas, was also temporary — although her parents and sister were of course going to remain at Varykino for the wedding and a short stretch thereafter, eventually they would need to return to Theed and their own lives. They had not provided a return date to those whom they had left behind, saying only that they required an indeterminate period of time to grieve. This was met with much understanding, of course, but sooner or later suspicions would be raised.

She preferred not to think about what would happen after they went back. Their memories would be modified by Obi-Wan so that they would have no recollection of their sojourn in the Lake Country, other than that it had left them with a feeling of great happiness and contentment. They would also experience no desire to return for several years, by which time Obi-Wan, Padmé and the twins would have moved on to a different location.

Obi-Wan suggested relatively soon after this plan was devised that he should also modify the memory of the holy man, to spare him potential difficulties after the ceremony. The Naberrie family was extremely suspicious of this, however, due to the prohibition on interfering with the clergy in any way. As well, Padmé pointed out that Father Proxollo would create necessary records of the ceremony for legal reasons in any case, and that those were absolutely not to be destroyed. This plan was therefore abandoned.

Preparations thus continued, but with an eye to security in mind. Sola used her datapad with its secure HoloNet connection to order what she called “deliverables” — the cake, Padmé’s wedding dress and accessories, the flowers, the rings and other decorations. These were sent to a drop point just outside Theed and discreetly picked up by Nandi and Teckla, who had developed a close friendship with Padmé and Obi-Wan over the last months and gladly volunteered for the job of collecting the wedding essentials.

About five weeks before the ceremony was to be held, most of the major arrangements had been made. The holy man had been advised, again by secure connection, that his services would be required, although he was not told at whose marriage he would be officiating. The music had been picked, the final fittings made to Padmé’s dress, the dinner menu had been finalized and most of the necessary non-perishable objects had arrived. And so far, no visible security breaches had occurred, which greatly reassured Obi-Wan.

Padmé, meanwhile, found for the first time in months that she was able to forget her difficulties and Obi-Wan’s too. Despite the fact that this was not exactly how she’d envisioned planning her wedding, she was swept up in its preparations and in her family’s joy. The Naberries were particularly excited, firstly because an upcoming marriage was always a cause for celebration in Nubian culture, and secondly due to the unfortunate belief that they’d never thought they would see this day. With Padmé’s supposed death, Jobal and Ruwee had been particularly affected, thinking that they had needlessly wasted years in which their daughter’s relationship with Obi-Wan could have blossomed. They were eager to make up for this perceived mistake, so they threw themselves into the planning with great enthusiasm.

Obi-Wan seemed simply bewildered by the whole process, which surprised almost no one. Though he had done a large amount of research on many cultures’ marriage customs, this was different from actually experiencing it firsthand. There seemed to be so much to learn about ceremonial practices and Nubian customs relating to marriage. He followed all the preparations with bemusement and curiosity, and some things needed to be explained to him.

“What’s a devotion gift?” he asked Padmé one day. They sat in the living room writing out the final schedule for how the wedding day would proceed, including the vows that the couple would exchange.

“Oh,” Padmé smiled. “On the day of the wedding, the couple gives each other presents. Usually this is done after the ceremony, in private. The gifts don’t have to be large or expensive, but they should be meaningful. It’s a sign of the love that the couple shares.”

“Possessions?” Obi-Wan blinked.

“Well, yes,” she nodded. “Many couples give each other objects that have special meaning to them. We don’t have to do that if you’re not comfortable with it, though.”

“No, no, it’s all right.” A smile was spreading slowly over Obi-Wan’s face.

“I think he has an idea,” Sola whispered to her sister.

Padmé giggled. “Well, that makes one of us.”

Both sisters laughed, and Obi-Wan stood from his chair and left the room.

The month was not without its difficulties, however. A worry had been gnawing at Padmé since they had decided firmly that the Naberries would leave after the wedding, and one quiet morning three weeks before the day, she decided to ask Obi-Wan about it.

She finished putting Luke and Leia down for their naps, fended off a last-minute inquiry from Jobal about flower arrangements and headed up the stairs. Obi-Wan had been spending a lot of time on their balcony as the weather warmed, usually with Luke, sometimes without. As she’d expected, he was there now.

“How are the preparations going?” he asked, looking across the lake to the green hills. The morning sun was just beginning to sparkle off the water, and a gentle haze had started to form. The day would be a hot one.

“All right, I think,” Padmé replied. “Mom and Sola are working on flowers today. They have to forward the designs to the botanist in the next tenday.”

“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair, a mischievous smile creasing his features. “Have you got your devotion gift yet?”

“I’m still thinking,” she answered, slightly abashed.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. “Am I really that difficult to figure out?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. You’re a Jedi, you’ve renounced material possessions, so what object could possibly interest you?”

“True,” he acknowledged.

“What about you?” she challenged. “Have you got something for me?”

A smile lit his face. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

“So I’m so easy to buy for because I haven’t renounced possessions?” Padmé exclaimed.

“No, no, darling,” Obi-Wan assured her. “This isn’t even something I bought. It’s … well, you’ll see.”

“You are infuriating!” she cried. Part of her could not believe that Obi-Wan, who just a week previously had not known what a devotion gift even was, had already gotten her something — something that, apparently, he had not needed to purchase. Had he made a gift? Jedi did build their own lightsabers, but other than that she’d never thought of them as particularly artistic.

But another part of her was proud of him, proud of his ability to know her and to override his natural beliefs to follow a tradition that was not his.

Obi-Wan continued to smile at her, and Padmé softened.

“Good for you,” she told him. “I’m really looking forward to seeing what you have for me.”

“As am I.” He winked.

“Oh, you.” Padmé chuckled, then became serious as she remembered what she had to discuss with him. “Listen, I — I had a question for you and … you may not like it.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Obi-Wan asked, sounding confused.

“Well — the plan.” She paused and bit her lip. “After the wedding, you’re going to modify my family’s memories so they don’t recall anything about their time here. But … are you sure you’ll be able to do it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He was making this exceedingly difficult, Padmé thought. “Obi-Wan, I’m not blind, though I’ve tried to be, for your sake. I know you haven’t meditated, really truly meditated, in a long time. So I’m not sure about your connection to the Living Force. When we make love, you can’t reach climax unless I help you, so you don’t want to do it anymore. And you’re going to be trying to modify my parents’ and sister’s memories, working with real, living tissue. I just don’t know how you can do that properly unless you’re much more in tune with the Living Force than you seem to be right now.”

He stiffened, as she’d expected he might, and the smile slid off his face. “Padmé, I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” she asked neutrally. “You know I’m willing to help you meditate.”

“It’s not that.” Obi-Wan’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “I know — what I’ll have to do. What he’ll make me face.”

She shook her head, and sighed. “Darling, you can’t postpone it forever. This is a part of the process. Eventually you’ll need to face it in order to move on.”

He took a deep, shuddery breath and turned away, staring out towards the lake.

“This is my family,” Padmé said pleadingly. “I need to know they’ll be all right.”

“They will be.” He didn’t face her.

“How? You haven’t meditated! I may not be a Jedi, but I know that your ability to use the Force is diminished right now. How do I know Sola and my parents will be safe?”

“Padmé …” Obi-Wan, too, seemed to be pleading. “You can’t possibly know what you’re asking of me.”

“I’m asking you to do what you need to do to stick to the plan,” she told him. “I’m asking you to make it as safe as possible for them. This isn’t about you, Obi-Wan! It’s about them!”

“Of course it’s about me!” he shot back, frustration beginning to leak into his tone. “It’s about me needlessly torturing myself!”

She drew back, shocked. “How could you even say that? Are you telling me you are so selfish that you won’t do what needs to be done? That’s not like you and you know it!”

Padmé understood that this was turning into an argument, but she didn’t know how to stop it. They needed to have this discussion, had perhaps needed it ever since she’d agreed to become his centre. There was no point in putting it off any longer.

Obi-Wan leapt to his feet. “Selfish?” he exclaimed. “How could you say that? Because he was my friend, because I was close to him, because I cut him into pieces and am grieving that loss, I’m selfish?”

“Not because of that,” Padmé snapped, rising as well. “Because you won’t do your duty. You’re a Jedi, Obi-Wan! I think you’ve forgotten that lately!”

“That’s not true!” Obi-Wan bellowed. “I’m reminded of it every day!”

“Then prove it to me! Prove it! Fulfill all your duties, not just those that are easiest!” She balled her hands into fists.

“Easy? You think my life is easy?”

“No, I think you’re neglecting your responsibilities!”

“Oh, so now it’s my responsibility to watch Anakin being burned alive?” Obi-Wan demanded.

Padmé flinched away. “I just want to make sure my family will be safe,” she said, trying to inject a modicum of calm into her voice. “Surely you can understand that. If my family returns to Theed with brain damage because you haven’t been able to modify their memories properly, I’ll never forgive myself. Likewise, if they return with their memories intact, I’ll worry about them! They won’t be able to protect the rest of my family! Think about them, Obi-Wan! Ryoo and Pooja, my nieces, they’re just younglings! Younglings!”

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan growled, “talk to me about younglings.”

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I? If that’s what’s going to make you understand, then you can bet I will!”

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Just … don’t. Please.”

“Why not?” Padmé demanded.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand? Obi-Wan, this is never going to work unless we’re honest with each other. You don’t tell me anything anymore!” She paused, anger filling her again. “Maybe you were right. Maybe you are nothing but a coward.”

Instantly Padmé knew she had gone too far. He tensed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, and strode to the balcony rail. This he gripped, shoulders shaking slightly.

“Obi-Wan, I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That — that was out of line, I didn’t mean it.”

He didn’t respond right away, and she could hear him taking deep breaths. “No. You’re right,” Obi-Wan said finally, shakily. “Yoda and Qui-Gon would be ashamed. You should be too. I don’t even know why you keep putting up with me. I’m an embarrassment.”

She went to him, her touch feather-light on his back. There was a single spot of wetness on the railing’s permacrete, and Padmé saw another tear in his beard, about to fall. Her heart ached for him.

“You know that’s not true. I only said those things out of anger. Not because I meant them.” Padmé wound one arm around his shoulders. “I love you. This is just one more thing we’re going to do together.”

“But why?” Obi-Wan whispered. “How can you possibly still want that? I’m not who I used to be.”

“Neither am I,” Padmé pointed out. “That doesn’t matter to you, though, does it?”

“Of course not!”

“Well, then why should it bother me?” she asked reasonably. “Darling, love doesn’t depend on everyone always staying the same. People change. Love grows and evolves as that happens.”

“I suppose — I suppose the Code didn’t teach that,” he said shakily.

“That’s all right. I’ll teach it to you, then.” Gently she turned him to face her, enveloping him in an embrace.

They stayed like that for several moments, she comforting, he accepting that comfort. Regret coursed through her as she remembered her cruel words to him. Cowardice. How could she accuse him of being a coward after all he had been through?

“You were right in principle, though,” Obi-Wan said after awhile. “I’m being foolish. I’m allowing my fears to blind me to what needs to be done.”

“I’m just worried, that’s all,” Padmé told him. “For my parents, and Sola … and I miss Ryoo and Pooja. I remember telling them they could be petal girls in my wedding.”

“Petal girls?” He pulled back to look at her.

“Another tradition,” she smiled. “The petal girl helps to arrange the bouquets that are going to serve as decorations and then she carries a basket of flowers down the aisle before the ceremony, walking in front of the lady’s maid. I’d promised my nieces that they could be my petal girls whenever I got married.”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan nodded. “Well, would that be a good job for Luke and Leia? The petal … people don’t have to be girls, do they?”

“No, but it helps if they can walk,” Padmé chuckled.

“I suppose so, yes.” He was laughing too, and she felt relieved.

“Nandi and Teckla are going to watch them during the ceremony,” she explained. “So they’ll be there, even if they won’t remember. I think that’s important.”

Obi-Wan leaned down to kiss her then, and she caressed his face gently. “I love you,” he told her presently. “And I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. I’m sorry I said … those things about Anakin. They upset you, didn’t they?”

“I was just surprised, that’s all,” Padmé said. “You’ve never talked about what happened on Mustafar before.”

“With good reason,” he muttered. “You’ll see more than enough in the vision.”

“Perhaps. But have you thought that maybe I need to see it?”

Obi-Wan vehemently shook his head. “No one needs to see any of that. I wish I could unsee it.”

“But what if I want closure?” she asked quietly. “What if I want to know what happened once and for all so that I can grieve properly? What if you need that too? What if that’s been holding you back?”

He was silent for a long while. “Look,” Obi-Wan said finally, “I don’t deny that that may be true. But I also wish I never had to see it. I wish I never had to do what I did. Wishing will change nothing, but I can’t help it. I just want you to understand that.”

“Of course,” she replied. “I do. I promise.”

“All right.” He took a deep breath. “Then let’s get this over with.”

***

Padmé told her parents that she needed to help Obi-Wan with something, and asked them to take care of the twins. She did not specify what they were going to do, nor did she indicate how long they might be — partly because she didn’t know. But she also wanted to respect his privacy, since she was quite sure that this would be an intensely personal moment for him.

When she returned to her bedroom, Obi-Wan was seated cross-legged on the bed, chewing on his lower lip. At the sight of her he tried to force his face into a smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace instead.

“Don’t be nervous,” Padmé said, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. “Everything will turn out all right. You’ll see.”

“I wish I shared your confidence,” he sighed.

“Is it worse this time because you know what’s going to happen?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I really just want to get it over with.”

“I understand,” Padmé told him. “Well, let’s get started.”

As before he clasped her hand; his was warm and sweaty. She squeezed his fingers and he closed his eyes, regulating his breath so that it became slow and even. Padmé closed her eyes too.

She saw the now familiar images in her mind’s eye, the portends of him entering a deep trance: her face, several of their encounters that he treasured the most, and even some recent events such as his walks with Luke and even the plans they had made for the wedding. Before long they found themselves in the usual forest, with trees arching overhead, a light breeze rustling through the leaves and dappled sunlight on the ground. Almost as soon as they arrived, they could sense Qui-Gon’s presence around them.

So. You have finally returned.

Yes, Master, Obi-Wan replied. His voice was firm.

I have been very concerned about you over the last months, Qui-Gon told his former apprentice. You are slipping further and further down the wrong path.

No more, I promise you. I have come back and I am ready to do my duty.

This is very encouraging to hear, Qui-Gon said. You can only avoid this for so long, and time is quickly growing short. Luke and Leia must begin their training, and you cannot properly assist them unless you yourself are completely in tune with the Force.

Padmé barely restrained a jolt of surprise — she had known that Jedi were trained young, though she hadn’t suspected quite that young — but Obi-Wan did not seem perturbed. Of course, Master, he said. That’s why I’m here.

Good. Qui-Gon nodded approvingly. Now, you know what you are to witness?

Obi-Wan’s grip on her hand grew tighter. Yes. The events of Mustafar.

Correct. From what she could see of the Force ghost, there was compassion in his eyes. There is little more for me to say — only that you must continue your daily meditations, and that if you do, you will find your abilities quickly returning to their previous level. Do not hesitate to share your turbulent emotions. It is this repression that is harmful to you, Obi-Wan. Padmé and I will be here. Please make use of us; we can help.

Yes, Master. I understand.

All right. Then good luck to you, and I will speak with you soon. The Force ghost nodded to both of them, and then slowly flickered out of view.

She heard Obi-Wan take another deep breath beside her as the images before them swirled.

***

The location was intimately familiar to her, events having occurred there which would be with her for the rest of her life. Trust had been regained and then destroyed, grievous injuries had been dealt, and the bonds of brotherhood and friendship had been irreparably fractured. Even the Force crackled with it — the undeniable truth that Something Big had happened here.

But this time she was there as an observer rather than a participant, witnessing her partner’s titanic struggle with himself aboard her starship as he listened to the conversation outside. She heard the pain in her own voice as Anakin asked for her allegiance, and as she responded to his requests. She saw the Obi-Wan of the past finally act, half out of blind panic, as he hurried towards the head of the boarding ramp. She saw herself turn, desperation in her eyes, as she tried to deny that she had brought Obi-Wan there to perform a murder. She recoiled at the foul creature consuming her friend, and at his fist as it rose to choke the breath out of her. She saw herself crumple to the durasteel landing pad, her fingers blistering from the intense heat permeating the air.

Obi-Wan and Anakin circled one another like angry rancors, in conflict over the same piece of territory and the same female. She heard the words they shouted, and detected the pleading cadence in Obi-Wan’s voice as he spoke to the man who had been his best friend and his brother. But the foul aura of the Dark Side had already permeated Vader, and he paid no attention. His thoughts, his beliefs, were as plainly etched on his face as though he had spoken them aloud.

You took her from me, and you will pay.

Swiftly the battle escalated until they were fighting not just with words, but with actions as well. As desperate as she felt for the Jedi, Padmé was also awestruck by her partner as a warrior. She had never seen him quite like this; the security tapes from the power generation pit in Theed had not captured the elegance of Obi-Wan in battle against another Force-user, nor had they managed to convey how much he had grown in skill since Maul. She watched with her mouth hanging open.

He gave ground continually, his lightsaber twirling in a blizzard of parries, chops and deflections that somehow held off Vader’s raw power and brute force. Obi-Wan simply took, and took, and took, accepting the blows from his opponent’s lightsaber and even the kicks and punches aimed in his direction. Many connected, and her astonishment grew that he had not returned to her with a broken jaw or even worse. There had been bruises, certainly — he couldn’t stand to have her hug him tightly for days afterward, though undoubtedly he needed the comfort. Those small injuries were simply another reminder of everything he had been through.

The fight became yet fiercer as it moved into the mine’s control room, and both combatants flung tables, chairs and even dead Separatists at one another in an attempt at distraction. Obi-Wan’s pain grew with each overhand chop, with each slice, with each dodge, though he was doing an excellent job of keeping it under control. An outside observer who knew neither of the fighters might even say that both were focused solely on survival, but Padmé understood that this was not the case. She could see it in his eyes, having spotted unshed grief there many times before. She could see it in his body, in how he never went on the offensive but simply allowed Vader to come to him. This might even have been a style of lightsaber combat for all she knew. In this circumstance it was all he had.

There were moments of fear for Obi-Wan as well, when her heart leapt into her throat despite the fact that he was in actuality standing right next to her, perfectly unharmed. When Vader’s mechanical arm clenched at Obi-Wan’s neck and started to squeeze, when the latter began to choke, horrible gasping noises issuing from his mouth as he attempted to fight, growing weaker with each passing moment, as Vader lowered him almost to the platform, as his hold on the lightsaber began to weaken and then failed …

She gasped as suddenly, inexplicably, Vader released his old Master. Padmé couldn’t understand — he’d had Obi-Wan defenseless, so why had the Sith shown such uncharacteristic mercy? — but she didn’t have time to ponder the question since a moment later they were at it again, Obi-Wan gasping breath into his lungs as he found his lightsaber and, for once, began to press the attack.

She couldn’t help speaking it aloud, however, to the Obi-Wan next to her: “What was that?”

His voice, when he replied, sounded weak and lifeless. “What?”

“He let you go! He could have killed you right there, but he didn’t!”

“I don’t know.” Obi-Wan shrugged helplessly.

“Maybe there was enough good left in him to realize that wasn’t an honorable way to end the battle,” Padmé suggested.

“Sith are not noted for their mercy,” Obi-Wan confirmed.

She glanced over at him then to see that he had gone almost entirely white; his grip on her hand was vicelike. Pity for him washed through her, unbidden, and she draped one arm around him to pull him closer, encouraging him to rest his head on her shoulder. This he did, and she could feel him shaking.

“Just watch,” she whispered softly. “Every moment you see is one you can forget later. I promise.”

He laughed, a kind of hysterical chuckle, but said nothing.

The combatants continued to revolve around the control room, fighting furiously, occasionally using the Force to blast one another into the panels lining the walls. The danger did not truly return until the battle moved outside, the antigrav generators slowly peeling from the mine to the tune of warning alarms. Neither man paid attention, however, and Padmé’s hand flew to her mouth as Obi-Wan leapt for a narrow collector pipe. The pipe rocked as Anakin landed on it, both men swaying as they tried to keep their balance.

Amazingly, neither fell. Obi-Wan jumped to the platform below, evidently having judged the pipe to be too much of a risk, and again they clashed with no regard for the lava rocks being hurled in every direction. The fight only paused when a huge geyser of fire burst up from below, landing like a tsunami on the metal of the platform and almost instantaneously dissolving it.

Obi-Wan ran first, scrambling behind one of the durasteel pillars as flaming rocks pelted the remains of the mine. Anakin reached him just as the entire superstructure broke free, falling to land with a mammoth splash in the river of liquid fire below. Panting, both men scrabbled for handholds as the surface they stood on suddenly transformed into a forty-five degree ramp. The Padmé and Obi-Wan of the present were secure, as some trick of the Force kept them levitating just behind the Obi-Wan of the past’s shoulder. Padmé squinted, seeing him look ahead to where a huge lava fall belched black, sulfurous smoke into the already polluted air.

“If only he’d died then,” came a whisper from next to her.

She bit her lip; he still looked gaunt and pale. “What do you mean?”

“I jumped … I jumped from the mine,” Obi-Wan narrated as they watched his past self make that precise leap, onto a tiny platform on which the antigrav sensors were still working. “Anakin could have gone over and — and that would have been it.”

Padmé and the two Obi-Wans watched as Anakin reignited his lightsaber and took a spectacular risk, propelling himself off of the mine as it toppled into the lava fall. He flew out over the fiery river, waving his arms like a windmill and coming to land on a small mining droid which promptly rose out of the lava and carried him inexorably back towards his opponent.

“You think it would have been better if he’d gone over?” she asked.

“Then I wouldn’t have had to … to …” He couldn’t continue, and closed both his mouth and his eyes very tightly for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Padmé whispered, for what seemed like the thousandth time.

Jedi and Sith fought an awkwardly pitched battle as their unorthodox methods of transport continued to propel them down the river. As they came closer to the black bank, the Obi-Wan of the past lowered his head much like his present counterpart was doing.

“I have failed you, Anakin,” he said, and his voice was utterly bleak. “I have failed you.”

The response was uncompromising. “I should have known the Jedi were plotting to take over!”

“Anakin, Chancellor Palpatine is evil!”

“From my point of view, the Jedi are evil!” Vader’s yellow eyes glittered malevolently.

“Well, then you are lost!” Obi-Wan shouted pleadingly, as though he was hoping Vader might contradict him.

The Sith did not. Instead he leapt onto Obi-Wan’s platform and they kept sparring, each nearly toppling into the river on several occasions. The platform moved closer to the bank, and it was in fact close enough that Obi-Wan could jump onto it.

“No,” he whispered next to her.

“What —?” Padmé began to say, and then she remembered. The cruel words he had shouted at her while they were on the balcony, about slicing Anakin to pieces, about watching Anakin burn alive. She hadn’t taken them to be true, believing they were epithets he had said only in anger, but she could see — a split second before it happened, she could see —

And then in the blink of an eye, it was over. She watched, aghast, as the best friend she had ever had made another astonishing leap. But this one did not work out as planned. This time Obi-Wan’s lightsaber came up and it cut off Anakin’s arm, and then one of his legs, and then his other leg — she felt nausea rising in her throat as the limbs rolled down the bank and vanished instantly in the lava river — as Anakin himself slid down, screaming — as the scent of charred flesh filled the air — as Obi-Wan climbed to the top of the bank and turned, turned to see what was becoming of his brother — as he opened his mouth, and spoke words that broke her heart.

“You were the Chosen One! It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them! Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!”

Never had she heard him sound so desperate, so lost.

Never had she seen Anakin give him such an evil look in return.

“You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you.”

And she hoped this would reach their friend, hoped that there was still a chance he could come back to them, hoped that Obi-Wan could accomplish what she had not …

“I hate you!” Vader screamed.

Then at last, Padmé Amidala understood.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Release

She dragged her eyes open.

Padmé felt as though she’d been punched in the face, as though some dark, secret part of her had been wrenched into the world for everyone to see. She was aware, dimly, of the wetness streaking her cheeks, of her shoulders shaking with sobs, of the bile still choking her throat. She swallowed hard, staring around at the familiar confines of her bedroom, at the balcony beyond, at the empty space next to her, trying to regulate her breathing.

She blinked, squinting suddenly at the square of bedcovers where Obi-Wan should have been. She’d expected him to be unconscious next to her, which was one of the reasons they had held the meditation session on the bed in the first place … but he wasn’t. Where, then, had he gone?

Then she heard the retching.

It was coming from the fresher attached to their room, and Padmé bolted off the bed as soon as she perceived it. She scrambled to the doorway and knocked, knowing full well who was on the other side.

There was no response, though the sounds stopped.

“Obi-Wan?” Padmé called softly. “Darling, it’s just me. May I come in?”

Another few moments passed. Then his voice, ragged as broken glass, trickled out to her.

“No … please … don’t …”

“We need to talk,” she persisted desperately. “And you’re ill. Please.”

“I … can’t …”

“Why not?”

The pause was much longer this time, and Padmé bit her lip.

“… too … much …”

Her stomach clenched with worry. She had to get to him — the terror in his voice made her ache for him even as fear unceremoniously gripped her. Was this some bizarre side effect of the bond? Why would he not want to see her, talk to her, accept her comfort? She tried the door and was relieved to find it unlocked.

“Darling, I’m coming in.” The door slid open and Padmé stepped inside, bringing a hand to her mouth as she glimpsed the scene before her.

He was slumped over, clutching the toilet bowl, his back to the doorway. His hands were shaking, although she could tell he was trying to control that in front of her. She couldn’t ever remember seeing him look so lost, not even after Qui-Gon’s death or her miscarriage.

“Oh, Obi-Wan,” she whispered.

“Don’t.” The shaking increased and he flinched away, positioning himself as far from the doorway as possible. “Please, don’t.”

“Let me help you,” Padmé entreated. “I know what you saw. I saw it too. Is that what your nightmares are about?”

Obi-Wan nodded miserably, but he still didn’t turn.

She ventured forward anyway, trying to present as calm and composed a façade as possible. “It’s all right,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper again. “I can help you. We can do this together. You don’t have to be alone. You’ve never had to be alone.”

No response. He seemed to be curling in on himself, his breath coming in short gasps, shoulders shuddering madly. Padmé approached him slowly, sinking to a sitting position near the tub, her mind a jumble as she tried to figure out what she could say, how she could bring him back to himself, what she could offer him. She’d been in the same position before, but not like this. Not like now. She felt woefully unprepared.

“Darling, I love you,” Padmé began. “I’ve seen what happened on Mustafar and I don’t think any less of you. You did what you had to do. I miss Anakin … I miss him so much. I think about him every day … things we did together … his smile, you know that goofy grin he would get … the way he used to laugh … what he was like as a little boy …” She felt tears springing to her eyes even as the corners of her mouth lifted in a sad smile. “But I don’t blame you. He chose his own path, and you know that. We’ve been saying from the beginning that no one could make those choices for him. You know what Yoda told me after the twins were born? He said that no being could make a Jedi fall, not even a Sith like Palpatine. He said that Anakin made the choice on his own. He was manipulated, yes, but in the end … he chose. And you should not be punished, nor should you punish yourself, because of that choice. I don’t. I will love you, no matter what.”

Obi-Wan flinched, almost as though she had shouted instead of the near-whisper she was forcing herself to employ.

“You’re in pain, Obi-Wan,” she continued gently. “And you’re scared because of how much it hurts. You don’t know how to deal with it since none of your training ever prepared you to do what you had to do. It’s too big, right? It’s too complicated. You’ve tried to release it into the Force, but that hasn’t worked. And you know why? You know why? Look at me, darling.” Padmé gazed directly at him, waiting, and after a moment he peeked around one of his arms. “You haven’t let yourself accept it. You haven’t accepted the emotions as normal, rational. You haven’t allowed yourself to completely, fully grieve. And you need to do that.”

Immediately he hid his face again, violently shaking his head. “No … no … the Dark Side …”

“But you’re not making any progress,” Padmé pointed out. “It’s been almost six standard months now and you said it yourself — you’re not who you used to be. You’re not the Obi-Wan I remember. But he’s in there somewhere; I know he is. We just have to work on bringing him back together, you and me.”

“It’s not true,” he whispered. “That man is dead. Palpatine did his work well.”

She chose to ignore this. “We’re going to sit here, both of us. And I’m going to help you feel this grief and then release it. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. You decide. But you will come back to yourself. I’m not going to abandon you. I love you too much for that. It will hurt … I’m not saying it won’t … but you will get through this. We will get through this. I promise.”

And Padmé was quiet. She was quiet for nearly three quarters of an hour, her hands wrapped around her knees and her back against the tub, as she watched him. For a long while he stayed still and silent, the occasional shudder wracking his frame as he struggled against himself. Still she gazed at her partner, trying to surround herself with as much love and compassion as she could, so that he might feel it in the Force and know comfort. She banished impatience from her mind, and doubt, and her own grief and guilt. She simply tried to be what he had always told her she was to him: a beacon of light.

Finally, tremulously, Obi-Wan moved. Just a fraction of an inch at first, uncoiling one of his arms from the tight, compact ball into which he’d clenched himself. Slowly he drifted his hand towards her, seeking her touch. Equally slowly, Padmé stretched out her own hand, just brushing the tips of his fingers at first, and then, surprisingly, he gripped it tightly.

“That’s it, darling,” she whispered. “That’s it.”

His hand in hers was trembling, but she held on, lightly massaging. Then, almost before she knew it, he had crept across the short stretch of floor to where she sat and wrapped his arms around her, burying his head in her chest. She embraced him tightly, holding him there safely within the circle of her arms.

Still he did not let go of his grief. But Padmé made no comment, simply maintaining her grasp, waiting for him to make the next move, wanting him to feel secure enough to do that. She could almost feel the tension as it built within Obi-Wan, the tidal wave of emotion that he had kept mostly walled up for so long warring against thirty-nine years of Jedi training and warnings that excessive emotion would lead to the Dark Side. Mixed in with that was guilt over what he’d had to do to Anakin, fear that Padmé would blame him for it and that once she’d seen exactly what transpired on Mustafar, she would no longer love him. For who, he reasoned, could love a man who’d so grievously wounded his best friend, and when given the opportunity had refused to do the merciful thing and simply kill him outright?

Padmé could only guess at these thoughts, of course, but his behaviour so far seemed to bear them out. She bit her lip, remembering the shame in his voice when she’d first knocked on the fresher door. And still he was resisting, still he was trying to hold it back. Still, she waited.

A wracking, gasping sob suddenly escaped him and he quailed, she could feel it; the battle was about to be lost.

“Let it out,” Padmé whispered. “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to grieve. I miss him too.”

Obi-Wan seemed finally to have run out of excuses. He buried his face more deeply in her chest and she could feel him shaking again — but this time with tears. And these were not the silent cries following his nightmares, nor were they the hastily-stifled sobs that sometimes broke through when his guard was down. They were desperate, convulsive, loud, and ugly; his body shook with them. They were the culmination of six months of repressed grief, of buried emotion. They were perhaps the most pure emotion she had ever witnessed him express, and all she could do was hold on, soothe, whisper comfort.

Sometimes, words mingled with the sobs. More than once she heard him whisper, “My friend … my best friend …” or sometimes, heartbreakingly, Anakin’s name repeated over and over. It was at this that Padmé felt some of her own grief slipping to the surface, and she pressed her cheek to the top of his head to hide the tears streaking her face. Memories, both happy and sad, floated through her mind: Anakin as a child; their first meeting; his gift of the japor snippet (how she missed that little charm!); Anakin as a Padawan; his attempts to win her love (not knowing that her heart already belonged to another); his gracious acceptance of her relationship with Obi-Wan, his transformation from a brash, even overconfident young man to a jaded war veteran; the comfort she’d sought in him after her miscarriage and the comfort he’d sought in her when he returned from battle; the sheer, naked delight on his face when he felt the twins move inside her womb for the first time; the thoughts of how Luke and Leia would have loved him, and the kind of wonderful uncle he could have been to them if only, if only …

Her tears were turning into a flood, but she did not make any effort to stop them; just let them flow, occasionally lifting a hand to wipe her cheeks. As with so many other things, Padmé had the sense that this was something she and Obi-Wan had needed to do for quite some time. His need was perhaps more dire since he had repressed his grief for more months, but she knew she hadn’t taken the time to grieve adequately either. She’d had to take care of the twins, and Obi-Wan himself, leaving little time for her own needs.

She did not know how long they sat in the fresher. After awhile Padmé looked up and saw, through a haze of wetness, what looked like a shimmering blue form in the corner of the room. As she watched, the Force ghost nodded to her and smiled — reassuringly, but at the same time, proudly. Qui-Gon’s eyes were full of compassion for his apprentice, and gratitude towards Padmé.

The corners of her lips lifted as well, but she could not keep her sadness from showing through. Now that she’d had a chance to think of Anakin, to truly remember him, his loss hurt like a physical pain. The sweet boy he had been, the impulsive but loyal teenager, and the true friend — the best friend — how could it have all gone so wrong? How could he have turned? How could it have come down to a fight to the death between best friends, brothers, who were left with nothing but themselves and the damage they had done to each other?

“Will it ever get better?”

The tortured whisper came from Obi-Wan, and at first she thought it was simply another of his desperate mutterings until she realized he was looking up at her, through eyes still glazed with tears.

Padmé hugged him closer. “It will, darling. We won’t always hurt this badly when we think of him. And Anakin lives on in our memories, however painful they may be for us right now.” Her voice wavered as she spoke the words, but she hoped he understood the truth behind them.

“I just can’t think —” He broke off and swallowed hard. “I can’t think of him without wondering — blaming myself — if there was something I could have done —”

“I know. I feel that way sometimes too.”

“I failed,” he admitted miserably. “I failed with him even though I promised Qui-Gon — promised Yoda — I was supposed to prove that I could train Anakin despite my bond, but I didn’t. How can they even trust me with the twins? How can you trust me?”

“Because you are their father,” Padmé told him. “And you’ll develop that parental relationship with them first, before the one of Master-Padawan. We’re going to teach Luke and Leia that honouring familial bonds is just as important as the toppling of the Empire. And you are just the person to do that because you’ve had to learn yourself where the line is between devotion to duty and love of family. You’re strong, and you’re brave, and I love you. That’s enough for me to believe in your abilities.”

“But … if I failed with Anakin, I can do it again,” Obi-Wan whispered. “If I fail Luke and Leia —”

“You won’t.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

Padmé stroked his cheek, gently wiping some of his tears away. “I don’t. But you have always done your duty, darling, and you’ll do this one. That’s partly why I love you. Besides, if you undertake every task believing you’re going to fail, then you certainly will. So you can’t go on thinking that way.”

He clutched her hand. “Then what am I supposed to think?”

“Obi-Wan, consider what you’re saying for a moment. Every day you do thousands of little things and you don’t expect to fail at those. This morning you went into the nursery and took Luke out of his crib and changed his diaper. Did you think you wouldn’t be able to do that? Did you think you’d drop him, that you’d put his diaper on backwards, that you’d forget to clean him?”

“Of course not! But Padmé, I’ve been changing diapers for months now. I could probably do it with my eyes closed,” he reminded her. “Training an apprentice to Knighthood is … well, it’s different.”

“Not as much as you might think,” Padmé said. “I’ve never trained anyone before, but surely it must be a series of small steps? You don’t have to do it all in one day. And sometimes there will be failures and things going wrong. Remember the time Anakin accidentally welded his bedroom door shut? You wrote me about that.”

Obi-Wan actually smiled. “Oh, yes. And I thought he was making up an excuse not to attend Physical Sciences class — he never did like that one much, and he’d become quite adept at hiding his true intentions.” He shook his head, the fond memory seeming to come back to him. “And he kept insisting it wasn’t true, that he’d made a mistake with one of his tools, and I kept saying I didn’t believe him, because of course I didn’t. So finally he climbed out his window and walked all the way around the Temple to prove to me that he couldn’t use the door. He’d done a good job, too; I eventually had to cut it open with my lightsaber.”

“That must have been an interesting one to explain to the maintenance droids,” she remarked.

“They didn’t really care.” He shifted himself to a sitting position. “I think they’d been deliberately programmed that way. It wasn’t unusual for Jedi Padawans to have … accidents.”

“What sorts of accidents?” Padmé asked with a chuckle.

Obi-Wan casually twitched a finger, and his towel rose off the rack and floated towards him. “Oh, all kinds of things. Silly, really. Younglings would try to levitate bowls of soup across the mess hall and their Masters would end up covered in it. Anakin did it to me on purpose once, although he tried to claim his hand slipped. But I’d seen him surprise one of his friends that way the week before.” He snatched the towel out of midair and wiped his face and beard, snickering to himself.

She moved her hand in gentle circles over his back. “Did I ever tell you about the time Anakin tried to ride a shaak?”

“I don’t think so.” He turned to her with such a perfect happy grin that she wanted to take it and bottle it for the next time their world fell apart.

“Well, it was in the Lake Country, when he was protecting me after the assassination attempts.” Padmé leaned back against the bathtub and brought her knees up to her chin. “We’d decided to have a picnic near where I took you that one time — you know the big green field, right by the waterfall? That’s the one. Anyway, it was grazing season, so we were literally surrounded by shaaks, and after we’d finished our lunch Ani decided to impress me by climbing on top of one. He must have used some sort of Force calming technique, because usually those things have minds of their own. And then as if that weren’t enough, he starts trying to stand up on it!”

Obi-Wan was shaking his head, the smile still in place. “Oh, he did not …”

“He did!” she giggled. “To top it off, when he did stand up, he was facing backwards. And the shaak starts running around, just in this complete panic, and somehow Ani’s keeping his balance. He looks ridiculous, he’s sort of wavering back and forth and flinging his arms in every direction … and meanwhile I’m laughing so hard I can barely stand up straight, and then he does this spectacular cartwheel face-down into the grass and lets the shaak run over him! Just flops over, trying to make me think he’s hurt!”

“And I’m assuming by your wording that he was only pretending to be injured,” Obi-Wan said with a roll of his eyes.

“Of course.” Padmé winked, flashing him a bright smile of her own. “But I didn’t know he was faking, so I panicked and ran to him, wondering all the while what in the galaxy I’d do with a wounded bodyguard and how I would explain the injury — I mean, who wants to admit they got trampled by a shaak because they were trying to ride it, of all things? But he was just being silly. We had a lot of fun that day.”

She brushed a strand of hair back from her face, remembering that that day was also when the full breadth of Anakin’s attraction to her had become evident. How many things would have been different about her life if she’d accepted his advances, if she hadn’t been in love with Obi-Wan?

Would she have been able to save Anakin?

She shook her head, momentarily annoyed at herself. How many times had she chastised Obi-Wan for doing precisely this, picking over the past and looking for fault in one’s actions? The Padawan could not have known that his Master already captivated Padmé, and it wouldn’t have been right to lead him on, to make him believe that she reciprocated his feelings when in fact she didn’t. Not to mention the damage an illicit relationship could have done to Anakin’s future — Padmé was almost certain that the Jedi Council would not have been as permissive with Anakin as with Obi-Wan. The young man had been willing to keep the relationship a secret, but how could you possibly lock that inside? She’d tried, and she knew it didn’t work. The truth would manifest itself eventually no matter what.

And Anakin’s fall … how much more intense would his fear for her have been if they were linked romantically? How much farther would he have been willing to go? He had pretended to her — and it was probably partly true — that he wanted to save her in order to spare Obi-Wan the pain of loss. How evil and twisted Anakin might have become, if he was fighting to save not his childhood friend, but his wife …

She gave an involuntary shudder.

Obi-Wan, who’d been leaning his head against her shoulder, looked up in concern. “What is it?”

Padmé sighed and draped her arm around him. “Oh, I’m being very silly, that’s all. Doing what I always tell you not to do and dwelling on the past.”

“Happens to the best of us, I suppose,” he replied. “But you’re right, it’s useless. I just wish —” Obi-Wan broke off with a sigh of his own.

“What?” She kissed the top of his head.

“I wish he was here,” he said in barely a whisper. “I wish he could have met Luke and Leia. I wish he could play with them and teach them and watch them grow. When you told me you were pregnant, and I tried to picture the future, I never … I never thought Anakin wouldn’t be a part of that future. In fact, I couldn’t think of a future without him. So unrealistic, when he could have been killed on the next mission … but that didn’t matter. I thought that if one of us died, the other would also die.” Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. “Maybe that’s what did happen.”

“What do you mean?” Padmé asked.

“The man that was Anakin Skywalker died on Mustafar. In his place only Vader remains, and I know you believe there’s still good in Vader, but I can’t. After what he did … I can’t.” A single tear tracked its way down his cheek. “Anakin is dead. And I think he took a part of me with him.”

She nodded, surprised by his articulation of nearly what she felt. “I know what you mean. He did the same to me.”

“But you — how could you —”

Padmé considered, the words coming to her in emotions rather than thoughts. “I know I didn’t train him, or fight him, and I certainly can’t bond the way you can. But he was in love with me. And when someone tells you they love you, whether or not you reciprocate those feelings, it leaves a very deep impression on you. Ani was … more than a friend, more than a brother, he was … Ani. We always had a connection to each other. I can’t really explain it. Now he’s gone and there’s something missing. Something I can only partially get back, by telling myself that he can be redeemed, that he’s still in there somewhere. That’s how I try to cope. In time you’ll find your own methods, darling. I promise.”

“How?” Obi-Wan whispered.

“Well, it’s like you told me when we first came here.” She smoothed the hair off his forehead and looked towards the corner of the fresher, where she knew Qui-Gon was still watching.

“You build a new family and a new future. Even when you don’t know how.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Connections

PERSONAL RECORD: PADME AMIDALA  
Obi-Wan has slept for most of the day. After it seemed clear that he was no longer feeling ill, we eventually left the fresher and settled back on our bed. I wanted to tell him of Qui-Gon’s presence, of how the latter is watching over us, but he said he was going to lie down and seconds later, he fell asleep. I can’t blame him for wanting the rest; experiencing the vision was very challenging even for me, and I know for a fact that Obi-Wan doesn’t sleep much anymore. When he does, he’s often disturbed by nightmares.

Strangely enough, his sleep today has been mostly untainted, at least when I’ve been able to check on him. At one point I brought the twins out onto our balcony so that I could observe him for a long period of time, and he’s barely moved. Luke has been extremely clingy today — which I suspect is a side effect of the vision his father was forced to endure — but he is much calmer when he’s outside, and so I like to give him and Leia some balcony time when I can. Having that time take place directly outside our room allowed me to keep an eye on all three members of my little family. (I’ve become quite adept at multitasking over the last months.)

I’m sitting next to our bed now, watching my partner as he slumbers quietly, and occasionally reaching out to touch his cheek. The last few times I have done this, a small smile has come to his face. I’m sure he can sense my presence on a subconscious level; he proved it during his convalescence from injuries sustained in the incident on Rattatak. Usually I would come and sit by his bedside (how very grateful I am to the Jedi Healers who allowed this, although I now realize that was probably due to some instruction of Yoda’s) and when he awoke, he would tell me he’d known I was there even before he opened his eyes. Obi-Wan had nightmares back then, too, mostly about the torture Ventress inflicted upon him, and he always said my presence was what soothed him most. He additionally said that he never experienced those terrible dreams when I was sitting by him, touching him.

Today’s events have brought those times back to me, in perhaps sharper detail than I would prefer. It’s never easy to see the one you love suffering, not for any reason. Even though I knew that the vision of Mustafar would eventually help Obi-Wan in his emotional recovery, I still wanted to scream at Qui-Gon for making him go through it. Qui-Gon knows about the bond, of course, and has far more experience with it than I do, so that primal urge came more out of a desire to protect Obi-Wan than anything else. Logically I understand that it was good for him, but somehow I can’t get the image of him curled on the floor, ill and weak and begging me not to approach for fear of what I’d think, out of my mind.

In some ways I’m glad I didn’t know the precise details of Rattatak, or indeed Mustafar, until much later. When Obi-Wan was taken by Ventress we were just a few months into our relationship, still healing from the miscarriage and getting used to being in each other’s company on a romantic basis. The news of his kidnapping was kept very quiet by the HoloNet and the Jedi, with the result that I believed he was on an extended mission rather than in any sort of danger. Well, of course he was in danger — all of those missions were inherently dangerous and carried a risk of bodily harm and death — but I mean to say that I didn’t know he was in any more danger than usual. He hated it when I worried, so usually when he was away I tried to keep myself busy and to forget where he was. Nearly two months had passed before Anakin came to my apartment to tell me the truth, that Obi-Wan was feared dead and that he, Anakin, had in fact been assigned to a new Master because of it.

I was angry at first. Angry that he had been lying to me by omission, angry that he didn’t come to me for help and support, furious at myself for continuing to believe that Obi-Wan’s mysterious absence from HoloNet reports had to do with some sort of government-imposed secrecy. It did, of course, but not in the way I thought. What I’ll never forget about that encounter was the way Anakin turned his gaze on me, blue and steely, and said, “He is alive. I know it, and I’m going to look for him.”

At the time I figured those words were spoken out of misplaced hope, out of a refusal to let go of the past and begin moving on. I was preparing to do just that, as I had always promised myself I would in such a circumstance. Now I know that somehow, Anakin truly believed what he was saying. With the additional knowledge that Obi-Wan can bond, I have to wonder whether he was communicating with his apprentice, perhaps on a very subconscious level, to let him know he had not been killed and that Anakin shouldn’t give up hope. Force bonds are innate rather than controllable, and I’m sure Ventress hadn’t bargained on them playing a role when she kidnapped Obi-Wan. To hear him tell it, his ability to fixate on his love for me was what saved him while he was being tortured. It’s flattering to believe this, of course, but I think Obi-Wan’s survival is also attributable to his personal strength. He’s very strong emotionally, and always has been. I admire that strength more than he can possibly know.

This is partly why, then as now, I’m so mystified that he didn’t want me to see him in a weakened state, that he thought it would drive me away. His first reaction to my presence after his rescue from Ventress was embarrassment and shame, along with a belief that if I saw him in bed attached to the innumerable tubes and wires aiding his recovery, I would be repulsed and would not want to see him until he was better. Of course, it wasn’t his actual desire that I stay away — he very much hoped I would visit him and sit with him as much as I could, and my spare time was taken up with just that activity for a long while — and now that I knew what danger he had been in, they couldn’t have kept me from him. Again I had to assure him that it didn’t matter, that he was one of the bravest people I knew, that I would love him no matter what. The physical aspects of his convalescence didn’t frighten or disgust me, and I was almost offended that he would think that. I even tried to help out with his care as much as the Healers would allow me, and I now realize that this probably set the precedent for Qui-Gon’s belief that I could also be of help to Obi-Wan after Mustafar (even though much of his recovery from that incident has been emotional).

I think one of the reasons Obi-Wan keeps reacting this way is that he’s so self-deprecating. He’s one of the most self-deprecating beings I know. In that he is also the consummate Jedi, always putting others before himself, always minimizing his own comfort and feelings in favour of helping those who need his assistance. But this selflessness is also a double-edged blade: in giving to others, he so often takes from himself, and that makes matters very difficult. In the early months after Anakin’s fall when my grief was most sharp and painful (not to mention complicated by the plunging hormone levels from my pregnancy), Obi-Wan was constantly near me, ready to offer his support and a shoulder on which I could grieve. I appreciated his presence, obviously, but I think that in providing it, he neglected himself. I remember watching him when he thought I was asleep, just after we arrived at Varykino. He’d spend hours standing by the window, just standing there, doing nothing. During the day he tried to distract himself by helping me, by caring for the twins, but at night when we were all asleep, he had no such refuge. I wondered at first how he could be so attentive, bringing the babies to me the moment they cried, but when I watched him I realized he wasn’t sleeping, that he knew exactly when Luke and Leia cried because he was awake to hear them. It’s all the more heartbreaking for me to understand that up until very recently, he believed that the release of the emotions he was feeling was prohibited, and would cause him to fall to the Dark Side.

I’ve always respected the Jedi Order, and applauded its members for their heroism. But this afternoon, I was certainly not feeling very charitable towards it. The damage its doctrine has caused to Obi-Wan … well, it seems unconscionable to me right now. Their vaunted Code has done nothing but rob us of the last six months, to make us prisoners of its teachings.

Luke and Leia, and any other children we have, will not be raised that way. I don’t care what arguments I have to make or what rules are bent. It’s difficult enough seeing my love go through what he’s had to bear, but the idea that the same thing could be inflicted on my children nauseates me.

I can feel myself becoming angry again, so I think it’s best to end this now before I have a chance to think more about any of this. I realize my frustration is largely irrational, but that does not diminish it in the least.

Padmé snapped her datapad shut and blew out her cheeks, trying to ease the fury that had so unexpectedly flared. She wasn’t typically one to get angry — except in cases of gross injustice, and this was not exactly that. The Jedi had believed, at the time, that what they were doing was best, but she couldn’t see anything positive about a group of beings whose Code forced them to become emotionless automatons and chastised those who did not conform. She had seen the damage that sort of mindset could do, seen it right in her own fresher that afternoon, and it galled her to the core to think of children being inducted into the Order, children who would have no choice about how they were raised or what they were taught to think; they would be simply indoctrinated with one viewpoint and one viewpoint only, and told not to explore any others …

Obi-Wan shifted in the bed, bringing her attention back to the present. Padmé ran a hand through her hair, reflecting that no matter what his upbringing, no matter what ideas he’d been taught to honour, it was how he had been brought up, and she needed to respect that. Whatever her personal feelings on the matter, for all intents and purposes the “damage” had already been done, and there was nothing anyone could do.

I guess it’s up to me to pick up the pieces, she thought cynically.

Once more Padmé brushed her fingers gently over his cheek, a soft caress that she hoped conveyed her love and devotion, her desire to help him make things right. He sighed softly, leaning into her touch, and then opened his eyes.

“Good evening,” she smiled. “I thought you were going to sleep until tomorrow.”

“Evening?” Obi-Wan blinked and scrubbed a hand over his face. “What time is it?”

“Just after sundown,” Padmé replied. “You’ve been in bed since early this afternoon.”

He shook his head and sighed again. “Sorry, I — I didn’t exactly intend to sleep all day. I should’ve been up, helping you with the twins —”

“It’s all right, please don’t worry about it,” she interrupted. “Mom and Dad and Sola practically trip over each other trying to be the first to get to Luke and Leia when they’re crying. I barely have to do anything. They’re probably just about to bring them up for bed.”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan turned over, attempting to sit up. “I’ll go and help with that. If we’re not careful they’re going to forget what I look like.”

Padmé laughed. “No, they’re not. Especially not Luke.” She clasped his wrists and tugged him upwards, concern beginning to crease her face. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You look awfully pale. And your hands are like ice.”

“Fine. Just tired.” He bent to pull on his boots, then yawned as if to prove it. “A night’s sleep will do us both some good.”

“I could get Mom to help me, you know,” Padmé said. “You don’t have to do everything tonight. It’s been a rough day.”

“I’m not going to do everything,” Obi-Wan replied. “Just take one of them. As wonderful as your mother and father have been, there will be a point at which they’re no longer here, and we’ll have to cope on our own then.” He rose, stretching his arms out above him as he left the room.

She sighed, shaking her head. Trust him to be cavalier about this. He’s just gone through a vision that nearly killed him and he still wants to put his children to bed. But part of her understood that this might also be Obi-Wan’s way of coping, of bringing his mind back to a positive plane. Luke and Leia represented hope to him, to her, to both of them, and it was not hard to see an expression of that hope in their infant grins and tiny hands.

Padmé scooped up her datapad, carefully replacing it in a drawer by her bedside. She didn’t believe anyone would ever intentionally look through its contents, but neither did she want Obi-Wan to come across the contents of her latest entry by accident. Throughout her relationship with him — and particularly lately — she had kept her opinions of the Jedi Order largely secret, believing that they would at best make him feel uncomfortable, and at worst, seriously offend him. As she had written, whatever her personal opinions were, Obi-Wan had been raised as a Jedi and it was essentially the only lifestyle he knew. It would be as though he’d criticized her parents for the decisions they had made with regards to her relationship with him.

She headed out into the hallway just as Sola was coming up the stairs with Luke in her arms. The baby was fast asleep, his head resting against his aunt’s shoulder, soft infant snores issuing from him.

“Here, I can take him,” Padmé whispered, holding her arms out for her son. “Where’s Leia?”

“Obi-Wan has her,” Sola explained. “And don’t worry about keeping your voice down, Luke’s been out cold for almost a half hour now. You could land a starship on the roof and I don’t think he’d hear it.” Carefully she lowered him into Padmé’s arms, both holding their breath as the child snuffled a little, gave a soft sigh not unlike those of his father, and dropped off to sleep again.

“Thanks.” Padmé nuzzled him, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “I mean it, Sola. For everything.”

The elder sister looked a little sad. “It’s no trouble, really. I figure I’d better take advantage of my time with them, since it won’t last much longer.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I wish with all my heart that things could be different. I really do.”

“So do I.” Sola shook her head. “But there’s no use wishing when it won’t change anything. Whenever I start thinking like this, I always tell myself that at least you’re alive, and the babies are alive, and we got to spend some more time with you and Obi-Wan. That’s really what counts, even if we won’t remember.”

“I tell myself that, too,” Padmé nodded. “And it helps, sometimes. I just want things to be different. I want us to live openly and have people know who we are. I want Luke and Leia to know their extended family … especially because Obi-Wan really doesn’t have anyone anymore, except us. I don’t want to think that, if we have another baby, that child won’t be able to meet my family. I never figured my life would be like this. And yet, you know what the funny thing is?”

“You wouldn’t trade it, right?”

“That’s right. Not for anything. Obi-Wan and our children are my family too, and I can’t imagine life without them. Even though I know … I know some of this is my fault.”

Sola narrowed her eyes. “Padmé, what are you talking about?”

“Anakin.” With a sigh, Padmé shifted Luke slightly in her arms. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but — you were right, when you said he loved me. He did. And —” She felt sudden tears spring to her eyes, and bit her lip.

“And you didn’t choose him,” Sola completed. “You chose his best friend instead.”

“Not instead,” Padmé exclaimed, a little more sharply than she had intended. “I’m sorry, I — I didn’t mean it like that, but … I did love him. He was as good a friend to me as Obi-Wan always has been. I can’t really separate one from the other. It’s just … I happen to love Obi-Wan as a romantic partner, and Anakin as a very good friend. And I can’t help wondering what would have happened if I had returned his love. Would he have left the Order and prevented all of this, or … or would it be worse?” She knew she was engaging in precisely the type of behaviour she had warned Obi-Wan against, and the sort that she’d prohibited in herself earlier, but she couldn’t stop. The words poured out of her, like she’d been waiting months to say them. “Ani was having … dreams about me. Bad dreams, nightmares that I was going to die in childbirth. I felt so badly for him, because I knew he wanted to help, but he knew I was Obi-Wan’s, and so …”

“Sis, you can’t blame yourself,” said Sola gently. “If you start thinking about all the what ifs now, all you’ll do is torture yourself. The past can’t be changed, you know that.”

“That’s —” Padmé sniffed and swiped a hand across her eyes. “That’s what I keep telling Obi-Wan. And myself.”

“You should take your own advice.” Sola reached out and brushed a few strands of hair back from her sister’s face. “Mom and Dad and I keep asking you how you’re doing, and you keep saying you’re fine, but I have a feeling that’s a lie.”

“I am fine, though,” Padmé said defensively. “Most of the time, anyway. I have to be. Obi-Wan needs me to be strong for him. He’s got it so much worse than I do.”

“Are you sure? Seems to me both of you are really hurting.”

She bit her lip, fully aware that she couldn’t explain just how much her partner was suffering — the depth of the friendship between Obi-Wan and Anakin, the final battle they had fought against each other, what Obi-Wan had done — without divulging crucial and dangerous details about just who resided inside the black suit of the Emperor’s servant. Then again, maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe Padmé was grieving just as much as Obi-Wan, only for different reasons.

“You might be right,” she ventured.

“Just don’t forget to take care of yourself,” Sola murmured. “I know helping Obi-Wan is important to you, and it should be. But if you neglect your own recovery, you won’t have anything left to give him.”

“I know.” Padmé sighed and hugged Luke closer. “It’s just so hard, that’s all.”

“Of course. It’s not supposed to be easy. I’d worry if you said it was.”

Despite her tears, a chuckle escaped Padmé. “Now why is that not very comforting?”

“Because it’s not meant to be,” replied her sister.

“I see.” She shook her head fondly. “I should get this little guy to bed. But thanks.”

“Any time, Sis.” Sola smiled, and Padmé could feel her watching long after she’d turned around and begun to walk toward the nursery.

She was so deep in thought as she approached that she didn’t hear the soft humming until she’d nearly walked through the nursery door. Peering around the corner, Padmé could see Leia prone on the changing table, busily kicking her legs in the air as Obi-Wan changed her diaper. Fascinated, she watched her partner bend to plant a series of kisses on their daughter’s stomach, to the infant’s coos and giggles. He followed this up by blowing a loud raspberry against her skin.

Leia shrieked with glee, and Obi-Wan’s smile showed such delight that Padmé wished she had a holocamera. “You like that?” he whispered to the baby. “Are you ticklish like your mother?”

“Ga!” Leia exclaimed, and her feet beat a rapid tattoo against the table. The small rattle she’d been holding fell to the floor, and she looked expectantly up at her father.

Padmé smiled; this was a recent game for both babies. They would drop whatever they happened to be holding, usually from a great height, and then affix their caregiver with an imperious stare until the latter retrieved the fallen item. If said object was not returned quite quickly enough, it was the infant’s job to let loose a loud wail until their toy had been “rescued.” Leia typically grew impatient more rapidly than Luke, and her mother figured that the tears would come at any minute.

Sure enough, Leia promptly screwed up her face, but before she could start crying, Obi-Wan twitched a finger and the rattle rose obediently off the floor, seemingly of its own volition. The infant was startled by this new development — after all, her mother, aunt and grandparents usually bent to the floor when she threw something — and regarded the floating toy with wide-eyed amazement. It came to rest near her foot, but not, to Leia’s subsequent frustration, quite close enough to be grabbed.

“Ba!” she demanded of Obi-Wan.

“Pick it up, little one,” he encouraged gently, and Padmé suddenly realized she was bearing witness to her daughter’s first lesson in the use of the Force. Fascinated, she tightened her grip on Luke and watched.

“Pick it up,” Obi-Wan said again. “You can do it, Leia. Pick it up.”

The child blinked in concentration, focusing her full attention on the rattle. Slowly she stretched her arm towards it, her tongue poking slightly out of her mouth. She hadn’t yet learned that what her father was telling her should have been impossible; Leia knew only that he had just retrieved an object from the ground without touching it, and so naturally, she should be capable of the same action. Padmé drew in her breath as the rattle twitched — it wiggled — and then slowly, jerkily, began to slide toward the infant’s outstretched hand. Leia’s eyes grew wide with wonder, and she squealed in delight, kicking her legs again and knocking the toy once more to the floor.

Obi-Wan did not press the issue, simply retrieving the rattle and handing it to his daughter, but Padmé knew he was pleased by the expression on his face. “Good girl,” he murmured, stroking Leia’s hair gently. “You’ve taken your first step into a larger world.”

“That was amazing,” Padmé said, finally entering the nursery to lay Luke in his crib. “I can’t believe it … she’s so young …”

“She’s at the age when many younglings would have been identified and brought to the Temple,” Obi-Wan replied, smiling proudly as he zipped Leia into a sleeper. “Of course, Yoda and I knew from the start that the twins would both be strong in the Force, but around six months, babies become aware of their abilities and can begin using them for rudimentary tasks. I wanted to test her to see if she could do it.”

Padmé’s brow furrowed in contemplation, and neither spoke as they finished settling the twins in their cribs and kissing them goodnight. Once that was done, she drifted back to her own room, troubling thoughts beginning to make themselves known at the edges of her consciousness.

She’d known this day would come, had perhaps known it since she’d found out she was pregnant, but knowing something was quite different from actually seeing living proof of it. Especially in their current circumstances, the fact that the twins’ abilities in the Force were beginning to manifest themselves seemed particularly troubling. She had counted on at least one or two years, and maybe even more, before she would have to confront the very real fact that her children would grow up and eventually attempt to defeat Palpatine and Vader, bringing peace back to the galaxy. Things were moving too fast, time was accelerating, and she just wanted everything to stop for a day, a few months, so that they could have some time together without the intrusion of the new conflict … was that so much to ask?

“Is something the matter, darling?” Obi-Wan asked gently.

Padmé blinked, slowly coming back to the present. She was sitting on the edge of their bed, staring into space, and he’d kneeled in front of her, concern etching his features. “The twins can use the Force now,” she mumbled. Her voice sounded far away, distant.

“And that troubles you.” He clasped her hand.

“I don’t know …” She shook her head tiredly, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe it’s just the sort of day we had, I’m not sure, but … I can’t stop thinking about what will happen when Luke and Leia grow up. What they’ll be forced to face. And I think of what that did to Ani, how he didn’t survive it, and — I can’t have my children go through that, Obi-Wan. I can’t.” Padmé found she was near tears.

“Darling, you know that’s very far in the future right now,” Obi-Wan reminded her, settling on the bed and pulling her into his arms. “It will be many years before either of them can wield a lightsaber, let alone be able to battle the Sith. And when they do, Yoda and I will make very sure they’re prepared before it ever comes to that.”

Padmé nodded. “I understand that. And I know I’m probably overreacting. But I wasn’t … I wasn’t raised as a Jedi. I can’t picture a — a six-month-old child as a soldier, no matter how hard I try. Somehow, seeing Leia use the Force … watching you train her … it just brings home to me everything they’ll have to face. Everything they’ll have to do, and all the pain the Empire will eventually cause them … I want them to use the Force, because it’s their birthright, but … I don’t know. It’s just hard, that’s all.” She found herself blinking back tears.

“I know, darling, I know.” He stroked her arm soothingly. “Well, I suppose I don’t really know, though I can understand why you might think that way. But remember that they’re just children now, infants, and it will be a long, long while before any of this happens. No one is going to take them away from us.”

Padmé nodded, leaning tiredly into him. “If I was a mother in the time of the old Order, someone would have.”

“That’s right.” Obi-Wan sighed heavily. “But it can’t happen now. I assure you.”

“I’m sorry.” She reached up to stroke his cheek, running her fingers lightly over his jawbone.

“Don’t be,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. “Right now … and perhaps this makes me less than the Jedi I should be, but … I don’t want to let them go either.”

“Of course it doesn’t make you a bad Jedi!” Padmé objected. “How could you even say that?”

“My whole life has been about letting go, about allowing things to pass on,” Obi-Wan explained. “It’s that way for any Jedi, but most especially for me. Because of the bond, a special emphasis was placed on the aspects of my training which focused on the release of attachment. And I know we’ve been working on that lately and that it isn’t inherently wrong to be attached to one’s children, but …”

“But thirty-nine years’ worth of training is difficult to cast aside,” she completed.

He bowed his head. “Yes, exactly.”

This time Padmé was the one to drape her arm about his shoulders. “Obi-Wan, remember what I told you this morning. You don’t have to do any of this alone. And neither do I and neither do Luke and Leia. Families help each other. They don’t demand perfection or detachment or any of the rest of it. You just have to be yourself.”

Obi-Wan chuckled bleakly. “Sometimes I don’t know who ‘myself’ is anymore. It was defined so much by one thing, and now … now that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Yes it does,” Padmé said. “It exists in you and it will exist in Leia and Luke, and in the hearts and minds of everyone who still believes in the principles of democracy and the Jedi Order. People like Bail and Mon.”

He was silent for several moments. “While one Jedi lives, survive the Order does.”

“What?”

“That’s something Master Yoda said when he and I visited the Temple, after — after — the massacre. He said that it only takes one Jedi to uphold the Order.”

“Well, he’s right,” she smiled. “And like I said, you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve never had to be alone.”

“I know.” He nuzzled her cheek, then kissed it. “I know.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

The Resumption of Duty

Lights.

Bright lights.

He blinked, uncertain where he was or why he was there. A strange odor hung in the air, something like charred meat and decaying organics.

He tried to turn his head, but pain lanced through him and a new sound was heard, the sound of someone screaming, and he wanted to tell them to be quiet, because they were hurting his ears.

Then a sharp implement pierced his flesh and all at once Obi-Wan realized that he was screaming. He was yelling, he was making those horrible sounds, tearing his throat raw, but he couldn’t stop and the pain, the sharp pain, the burning pain, the pain like a thousand shards of plasteel penetrating him would — not — cease —

He felt cloth being peeled from him and he reached for the Force, trying to dissolve at least a little of the discomfort into it, but it seemed to be busy elsewhere, inaccessible, and the connection was thin, too thin and he was losing it …

More instruments were slicing into him now, carving him up like a nerfsteak, pushing wires and connections deep into his wounds, and it hurt, oh Force, it HURT, and it needed to stop —

His legs jerked and a steel claw tamped down to keep him in place as metal stakes were pushed into him, into the cauterized stumps where his legs and arms had been. He tried to move what remained of his limbs, to beat away the claws and slicers and pinchers, and as he did another horrific scream was wrenched from his throat, a word that sounded vaguely like no. But they would not stop. Another claw restrained him and work continued.

The scene suddenly swirled, though the pain did not cease, and when the images reformed he could see a dark shape above him, a shape that seemed to be descending, coming closer. And then it was upon him, fixing itself to his face in a kind of horrible claustrophobia. Bile rushed up his esophagus as he heard the click of a hermetic seal — he was being closed into this thing! — and Obi-Wan shut his eyes to keep from vomiting. Oxygen hissed into the mask and his chest rose in response, rose and fell through actions he was not controlling. He could not stop, either — breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, all while an awful rasping noise sounded in the auditory processors that now passed for his ears. The table beneath him tilted and his eyes flew open in surprise, burned lids stinging and protesting at the motion. A picture resolved itself before him and he realized he could see through the mask, into a terrible kind of miasma that now passed for the outside world.

The table halted. Obi-Wan tried to move his arms, but they were still strapped down.

A voice emerged from the shadows. “Lord Vader. Can you hear me?”

He understood that the meaning had trickled directly into his brain, and unwillingly his own voice responded, through a parched throat and burned-away lips and tongue. It was nothing more than a light rasp, which the vocoder translated for him.

“Yes, my Master,” Obi-Wan replied, and instantly he knew there was another question he needed to ask, something else demanding his attention, and it was important because it might be the only beacon of light left in his universe. “Where is Padmé? Is she safe? Is she all right?”

The deepest shadow of all uncoiled itself from the darkness and stepped before him. “It seems, in your anger, you killed her.”

It broke over him like a thundercloud, the news he did not want to hear and did not believe, though some part of him had always known this was a possibility since he had conjured Vader within himself. But he had never meant it to get out of control, never wanted the dark power to smother his love even as it consumed him …

“I? I couldn’t have! She was alive, I felt it —” and he had, he’d sensed her presence during the battle and the burning and the torture afterwards — so the shadow must be lying, this could not be fact —

Yet it was. Obi-Wan could feel the truth of the shadow’s words as his anger built, built and consumed him again like a malevolent monster even as he gathered the Force around him with all his strength and screamed her name …

He was still screaming when he woke up.

Not noisily — his mouth was open in a yell, no sound coming out. But Obi-Wan could feel the terror coursing through him, the terror and the loss and the physical pain that was still so vivid and had not ceased.

He panted frantically, gasping for air, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He’d burned — burned — and then the pain, the terrible pain, and Padmé’s loss …

Padmé! He started and whipped his head around, glancing to the other side of the bed, needing to see her sleeping form and reassure himself that she was still there, that she still loved him, that she could continue to provide a comforting shoulder …

But she was gone.

Gone, the covers tossed aside, no indication of where she might be, and what if the dream hadn’t been a dream and he’d actually killed her? If he was the monster, rather than the man, the lover, the Jedi?

Again Obi-Wan found himself nauseous and he tried to shove it down, close his eyes, but this time the feeling did not vanish. It kept rising, reforming, even as he released fear and anxiety into the Force. He needed her, needed Padmé and without her he would drown, drown in his own self-loathing …

There was a swishing noise at the other end of the room and suddenly Obi-Wan spotted her, clad in her nightdress and running light fingers through her hair as she dabbed her face with a towel. She was beautiful, a lifeline.

“P-Padmé …” It came out a moan, a gasp.

She turned and looked questioningly toward the bed, as though she wasn’t quite sure of what she’d heard. “Darling? Are you all right?”

Bile rose in his throat again, just as it had in the dream, but now he couldn’t choke it back down, and he retched.

“Oh, Obi-Wan.” She was there in an instant, the towel in her hand now held to his mouth. Her other hand patted his back, massaging gently. “Shhh, it’s all right. It’s all right.”

He couldn’t reply, simply continuing to empty the meager contents of his stomach into the towel. The pain and the damage and the emotional distress and the knowledge of who had caused that all flashed through his mind and more guilt enveloped him until he didn’t think it was possible to live, didn’t think a person could cope with all this, it was just too — much —

“Shhh.” Padmé pulled him against her chest, wrapping him in a one-armed embrace. “Shhh, just breathe. Breathe, and relax.”

Obi-Wan gasped air into protesting lungs, and with it came her scent. That, more than anything else, calmed him, and gradually the queasy feeling eased as he pressed his face into her chest, needing her, needing her desperately.

“Shhh,” she repeated after a few moments. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”

“No,” he whispered. It wasn’t, it could never be, not after what he’d done.

“What happened?” Padmé asked gently. “I’ve never seen you like this after a nightmare.”

He immersed himself in the Force for a moment, probing, reaching, seeking, and now that he was calmer, it helped. And then he had the answer, which chilled him even more than the dream had.

“It was a warning.”

“A warning?” She regarded him quizzically.

“The bond is warning me. Before, I could sometimes use it to … see into his thoughts, know what he was feeling, even communicate with him on a subconscious level. But it only worked if he was either thinking of me or if he was close at hand. We have to consider one or both of those possibilities.”

Even in the darkness he could see that she’d gone pale. “He’s coming here?”

“Maybe.” Obi-Wan scrubbed at his face with an exhausted hand. “Or he may simply be contemplating resuming the search for any Jedi who haven’t been caught yet, potentially on Palpatine’s orders. Surely I must be rather high on their list.”

“And the bond can — tell you this?”

“Not directly. But it becomes much easier to connect with those to whom you’re close if they’re thinking of you or if they’re in physical proximity. We may be sure that at least one of those suppositions is true, if not both.”

Padmé stroked his hair. “So what should we do?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head helplessly. “I need to meditate tomorrow, see if I can fix Vader’s exact location. Then, I suppose we shall see.”

“But the wedding … we can’t leave now!” She bit her lip.

Obi-Wan stiffened. “Padmé, I assure you, you will not wish to be on the same planet as Vader is when he does eventually appear. If it is within his capability, he will find us. We need to make certain that capability doesn’t exist.”

She’d recovered herself almost immediately. “I know. It’s just … hard to think of leaving here, that’s all. It seems as though we just arrived.”

“It does.” Obi-Wan felt very tired all of a sudden. “We won’t have to leave tomorrow, and it may not even happen for many days to come. But we need to begin watching the HoloNet. Any visit Vader makes to Naboo will almost certainly be couched in diplomatic terms, even if that’s not the intent. We’ll have some warning.”

“That’s good, then.” She began to ease back down onto the bed, still cradling him in her arms.

“Yes.” But he still felt unsettled, rattled by the experience. Despite the fact that the last months had been anything but easy, it still felt as though Varykino was a cocoon, an indisputable refuge from the outside galaxy. While he was grateful for the warning, the very fact that he had been given it at all portended an eventual departure from this utopia. And that was something he didn’t want. Varykino, and to a lesser extent the Lake Country around it, was their territory. He knew it almost as well as Padmé now, and they had a well-defined routine in place for evading outsiders. He didn’t like the idea of remaking that routine in a new place, a place with which both he and Padmé would almost certainly be unfamiliar. And lack of knowledge led to mistakes. In most circumstances those would be minor and easily correctable, but in their situation one small mistake could quickly prove fatal — not only to himself and his family, but possibly to the entire Jedi Order as well.

Obi-Wan shivered.

“Don’t think about it now, darling.” Padmé pressed soft kisses to the back of his neck; it felt exquisite. “Just relax. You need to rest.”

“Mmm.” He concentrated on breathing in and out, accepting the worry and the fear and letting them flow through him and out. It was one of the most basic exercises for a Jedi, but also one of the most important, and he was thankful for it every day. The negative emotions were already ebbing away, to be replaced with the same smooth calm he’d felt even as an infant.

That combined with Padmé’s touch, her fingers running slowly over his shoulders, up and down his left bicep, tracing the muscles and tendons of his arm and finally stopping to squeeze each of his fingers. He was being lulled back to sleep, her gestures intimate without being intrusive, and he appreciated them immensely.

She slid around him, cupping his body against hers and molding him to her touch. Finally secure, Obi-Wan slept in the circle of his love’s arms.

***

Wakefulness came slowly, and it came with a growing sense of emptiness. Padmé reached her arms upwards, stretching them over her head, and simultaneously she remembered the events of the previous night. Worry was useless, as she’d rightly told Obi-Wan, but that knowledge did not stop it from prickling at the edges of her consciousness. Where was Vader now? What was he doing? Was he planning an invasion of Naboo, ensuring that once again her people would be threatened because of a decision she had made? Where would her little family go? To what system could they flee? Would they be able to disguise themselves adequately (since, as a Jedi, Obi-Wan was still a wanted man)? What planet would be inconspicuous enough that Vader wouldn’t find them? What about the twins? How would they cope with being uprooted?

So many questions, and none of them had answers. At least, not yet. With a sigh she opened her eyes, surprised to find herself alone in bed. Where was Obi-Wan? Had he fallen ill again?

But no, she could sense movement in the room. She looked over to the window and saw him, wearing only his sleep pants, halfway through what appeared to be a complex set of physical exercises. Equal parts fascinated and attracted, she continued to watch, amazed by his skill and his innate ability to connect with the Force in this way. She could see the smooth interplay of muscle and skin, buckling and wrinkling and stretching as he arranged himself in different positions. She wondered if he would teach this to the twins, and if one day she might wake to see all three of them moving, artistically, through the energy field inaccessible to her.

Presently Obi-Wan completed one last set of motions and then paused, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He then stretched and strode across the bedroom to the fresher.

She closed her eyes as she heard the door swish shut, turning onto her back in bed. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, so it must still be very early in the morning. Padmé thought about what they had planned that day — some more wedding preparations, the twins’ care, perhaps an excursion out onto the balcony for a walk … would they still be able to do that, or would they need to leave immediately? She hoped not, though she knew it might be necessary for their safety.

After a moment the toilet flushed and water ran in the sink. The door slid back open and Obi-Wan climbed into bed, a long sigh escaping his lips.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Good morning. I wasn’t sure you were awake.”

Padmé smiled. “I saw you meditating — I assume that’s what you were doing? It looked amazing.”

Obi-Wan seemed a little surprised, but his face quickly relaxed. “Yes, those are the alchaka meditations. They’re a very personal, private part of every Jedi’s connection to the Force.”

“Oh — um …” She could feel herself blushing. “I-I didn’t mean to intrude, I just woke up and I saw —”

He pulled her close, silencing her abruptly with a gentle, passionate kiss. “Padmé, I love you, and you’re going to be my wife. Of course I don’t mind if you watch. You’ve certainly seen many other much more personal parts of me.”

She laughed against his mouth. “That’s true. I just didn’t want you to think I was invading your privacy.”

Obi-Wan twined his fingers through her curls, draping himself around her. “You didn’t. I promise you that.”

“Are you going to teach Luke and Leia those — alchaka meditations?” She stumbled slightly over the unfamiliar word.

“In time, yes. They will both develop their own relationships with the Force, in their own way. And that will be expressed through the alchaka meditations.”

Padmé nodded wonderingly, awed rather than perturbed. It seemed so much beyond her comprehension, and yet so beautiful at the same time, that she could not find it within herself to be jealous of the special connection he would have with their children.

“Thank you for letting me share it,” she murmured.

“Well, I’ve shared most everything else with you,” he chuckled. “Why not that?”

“I just — I don’t have anything similar to give you,” she explained. “I don’t use the Force or meditate … I suppose you could see my Senate notes, but …”

Obi-Wan trailed kisses down her face and across her collarbone, stopping to encircle each of her breasts. “Don’t worry. I have exactly what I need right here.”

***

The next several weeks passed mostly uneventfully, much to Padmé and Obi-Wan’s shared relief. His nightmares did not cease, but he seemed to feel that they had more to do with his ongoing adjustment to the events of Mustafar as opposed to any communication from the bond. Meanwhile, Padmé became adept at monitoring the HoloNet feeds on Sola’s datapad for mentions of Vader, Palpatine and Naboo that seemed connected. The only source of alarm was an announcement that Vader would at some point in the future be making a state visit to the planet, but that officials were still coordinating it and it would therefore not occur for quite some time. Both bride and groom concluded that the wedding could go ahead, subject to all further messages from Obi-Wan’s bond.

Thus, preparations happily continued. Padmé was beginning to worry that she hadn’t yet thought of a devotion gift for Obi-Wan — and with only a week left until the marriage, she had reason for concern. The gift needed to be something meaningful to their relationship, but there was no way that she could purchase an object because she couldn’t show her face in any shops. She didn’t feel that her gift should be a store-bought item in any case, as she believed that would diminish its value. So what could she offer him?

She knew he had his own difficulties with material objects as well, given that he’d spent so much of his life renouncing possessions. Technically, Jedi were not permitted to own anything except their lightsabers, and even those weapons were considered less possessions and more expressions of the self. She had briefly thought of making him some new clothing, or perhaps even a carrying case for his lightsaber, but dismissed those ideas out of hand almost immediately.

Still, figuring out what she should give Obi-Wan was a fun diversion from the other tensions present in their lives. Sola, who had selected her own devotion gift for her husband at the time of their marriage, was only too happy to help Padmé think, serving as a sounding board off which she could bounce ideas.

“What’s particularly meaningful in your relationship?” Sola asked her over a cup of tea five days before the wedding.

“Well … mainly emotional things, like trust and companionship,” Padmé said. She felt Luke shift; he was happy and dry and resting on her lap. “And those things can’t really be wrapped and given as gifts.”

“True,” agreed Sola. “Okay. Let’s think about this from a different perspective. How did you guys meet?”

Padmé rolled her eyes. “Sola, you know perfectly well. I must have told you a hundred times.”

“I know. But tell me again.”

“All right, all right.” The younger sister huffed out a breath. “It was during the blockade, when the Trade Federation had first invaded. I was in my handmaiden’s disguise and Sabé and her entourage were walking through the courtyard — you know that little area at the side of the palace, near the parade route? There are all kinds of elevated walkways around there, and the droids were leading us through when all of a sudden these two Jedi jumped down from one of the walkways with their lightsabers ignited and started slicing battle droids, just like that. I’d never seen a Jedi in action up until then, let alone two, and I was just amazed. I stood there while they spun and flipped and my mouth was hanging open, I’m sure of it. And then Obi-Wan — he was the younger man — landed on his feet right in front of me and our eyes met and … I can’t explain it, but it’s almost like there was a connection right there, right in that moment. I looked into his eyes and I just wanted to know more about him. I wanted to talk to him, make friends. And it was really strange, because I’d spent my life focusing on politics rather than friends. I didn’t even want friends until I met Obi-Wan.”

Sola smiled, nodding. “When did you realize you were in love with him?”

“It took a long time,” Padmé admitted. “We started writing letters after the victory parade because we didn’t want to lose touch. I was interested in Ani’s progress, obviously, and he needed comfort because of Qui-Gon’s death. Even though he’d never admit it, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And … I don’t know,” murmured Padmé. “I started becoming really excited about his letters. It felt like I’d be waiting weeks and weeks for one to arrive. Then when a letter did come, I’d read it over and over and over. He seemed to have so many interesting things to say. And he’d always ask about me and my life first, and have questions about what I’d been doing. I felt like … like somebody actually cared about Padmé the person rather than Amidala the politician. Whenever someone outside my family spoke to me on Naboo I had to address them formally and usually find a solution to their concerns. Of course I loved it, but sometimes I just wanted someone to call me Padmé. To ask about my life. That’s what Obi-Wan did.”

Sola nodded again. “That’s completely understandable. I remember you talking about it before.”

“I don’t think I realized how lonely I was until after the blockade,” Padmé mused. “Politics can be a very thankless job. If you take one action you’ll please a particular group of people but anger half the others. And then if you reverse your decision, the critics will turn around and say you’re going soft. So it becomes a balancing act, trying to figure out what will anger the fewest people. I wasn’t old enough or wise enough to understand that when I first ran for office. I think that if I’d known, I would have waited a bit, lived a little.” She shrugged. “Not that it matters anyway. I can’t go back and change things.”

“Maybe not, but I believe a lot of good came out of those times too,” Sola said. “You accomplished a lot while you were in office. You changed things in the Senate too, regardless of how they eventually turned out. And you fell in love.”

“I know, I just wonder about these things sometimes.”

“Of course you do.” The older sister stood to refill her teacup. “What about Obi-Wan? How do you think your letters benefited him?”

“I think in the same sort of way,” replied Padmé. “He was lonely too. He had been placed in a very unusual situation, training an apprentice when he’d only just finished his own apprenticeship. Both of them missed Qui-Gon terribly. And they were so different from each other. I represented a friend to Obi-Wan as much as he was a friend to me. But it took him longer to realize he was in love because so much of his life had been spent in denying attachment. And then once he did realize, he tried his best to release it. I thought he’d succeeded by the time we met up after the first assassination attempt.”

“But he hadn’t.”

“No, he hadn’t, which I didn’t understand until I wrote him another letter, and we fought alongside each other at Geonosis.”

“Right.”

Padmé regarded her sister skeptically. “Sola, I still don’t see what any of this has to do with my devotion gift for Obi-Wan. We’ve been talking for nearly an hour and I haven’t thought of anything.”

“Oh?” The older woman arched an eyebrow. “Haven’t you?”

“No!”

“Well, I have.” Sola smiled smugly.

“That’s wonderful for you, but in case you’ve forgotten, you are not the one marrying Obi-Wan in a week’s time!” Padmé exclaimed. “You’re not the one who’s going to be outdone by a Jedi who is supposed to have renounced possessions!”

Sola leaned over the table, her fingers splayed against the plasteel surface. “Sis, think. How did you and Obi-Wan become friends? How did you fall in love? How did you let him know that you still loved him? What is the one common answer to all of those questions?”

Padmé bit her lip, considering. “Well, the letters,” she finally said. “But I don’t see —”

“Yes, the letters. A devotion gift doesn’t have to be something you buy. Obi-Wan hasn’t bought his; you said so yourself! Can you think of nothing, related to and meaningful for your relationship, that you could give him? That you could make yourself?”

A few more minutes passed, and then Padmé’s eyes lit up. She stood, shifting Luke onto her shoulder. “Thanks, Sis. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Any time,” Sola grinned.

The younger sister hurried off, her mind brimming with ideas.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Into the Future

I’m getting married tomorrow.

The thought reverberated through Obi-Wan’s mind as he lay in bed, hands folded behind his head.

Never had he imagined this day might arrive. Padmé had talked often of the fact that as a youngling, she’d planned out her entire wedding before she turned twelve. Obi-Wan had done no such thing, had in fact schooled his mind from the time he could talk that attachments were to be avoided. This was particularly important for him because, as a Jedi living with a Force bond, it would be far easier for him to form an attachment to another being. It was worrisome enough to the Council that he had been taken as Qui-Gon’s Padawan and not shipped to the AgriCorps, but the thought that he might fall in love and bond with the object of his affections gave them fits. They met with him regularly as he grew from a youth to a teenager, as the time approached when Jedi Padawans traditionally began to explore their sexuality. Even to this day Obi-Wan could not recall those meetings without flushing red. There were the usual precautions, of course (frequent approved pleasure clubs only, wear a sheath, do not seek or permit any emotional connection with the evening’s partner) designed to protect his own physical and emotional health, but, to his further embarrassment, the Council added the stipulation that he could not meet with the same partner more than once. This, it was hoped, would prevent his forming an attachment to any one woman, while still permitting him the sexual fulfillment every being inevitably sought. And he followed these rules, terrified of punishment and equally terrified of falling in love due to the consequences he had been assured would befall him if he did.

But they never knew about the letters.

By the time Obi-Wan had begun to write to Padmé, he’d sworn off pleasure clubs for good on the basis that he was using those women, using their bodies, and that was something with which he simply didn’t feel comfortable. He’d resolved that celibacy, as the Order required, ought to be complete and that partaking in pleasure clubs (as many of his fellow Jedi routinely did) represented a direct contravention of the part of the Code that preached respect for all forms of life. Besides, Obi-Wan had an apprentice to look after, an apprentice for whom he needed to set a good example.

Writing to Padmé as a form of romantic interaction had been the farthest thing from Obi-Wan’s mind. For a long while she was simply a very good friend, and a refuge from training a rambunctious child. He looked forward eagerly to each of her missives, sometimes stopping by the Temple’s courier to see if a new one had arrived. But strangely, he didn’t view this as an attachment. Jedi were allowed and even encouraged to have friends, after all. And Padmé was just a friend. Just a very, very good friend, who had helped him through a difficult time in his life.

He hardly even realized how dependent he had become on the letters until they stopped. Just ceased, with no explanation whatsoever. At first Obi-Wan blamed the courier. Then he wondered if he might have said or done something to offend Padmé. It wasn’t like her to simply cut off all contact — she’d be much more polite — so after awhile he decided that he must have committed some terrible diplomatic gaffe (though he could not imagine what that might be; he’d always kept his generally negative opinions of politicians to himself) and that he would never hear from her again.

This wounded him much more deeply than he knew, and he thought that if he could just see her, explain that he had meant no harm by whatever it was he’d done, perhaps matters would be all right between them again. He began making excuses to journey to the Senate while it was in session, and concealing himself outside the Nubian pod so that he could gaze at her, watch her work, hear her as she made motions and filed objections and spoke out in opposition to the creation of an army for the Republic. He loved the way she brushed her hair back from her face, the soft music of her voice, the liquid brown of her eyes. Several times he came close to revealing himself because he wanted so badly to touch her, to hold her hand, to twist his fingers through her curls. He imagined she would feel soft beneath him; that her lips, full and red, would caress his mouth; that he could get lost in her body.

It was only with those thoughts that Obi-Wan realized his longing was in fact something deeper, and that despite all precautions, he had fallen in love with Padmé Amidala. He had bonded with her. And as soon as he knew this he understood that he had a problem, that due to the bond some part of him would always ache for her and could never be fulfilled.

For a time, he considered leaving the Order. He considered cutting himself off from everyone to examine his own feelings, and for a time that even worked. For him, anyway. Others, including Anakin, grew concerned, but Obi-Wan didn’t want to explain what had happened. They’d barely allowed him to become a Jedi in the first place, and if he confessed his transgression now, surely they would declare he was too dangerous, and cast him out in disgrace. Being a Jedi was all he knew. He couldn’t stop just because of a petty feeling like love.

And then, wonder of wonders, the Force brought them together again. Obi-Wan knew as soon as he shook Padmé’s hand in her apartment that something was imminent. Either he would survive this and confess his love, or he wouldn’t. She hugged him at the Coruscanti departure dock and he wanted to hold her forever. The bond ached, a literal bodily discomfort, from being in such close proximity and yet unable to express his desire. After he read her letter, her letter explaining why she had severed contact, he decided that there was only one thing he could do. That was to reciprocate the attraction, hopefully consummate it, and thereby be rid of it (with a bit of luck). After all, this seemed to work for most inappropriate feelings — accept them, let them pass through you and then back out. By making love to Padmé, he hoped the bond would be satisfied.

It was not, and the situation grew far worse after they’d slept together. That morning Obi-Wan had come very close to resigning his commission in the Order. It was only the coming war, and the fact that Anakin would need more guidance after the battle with Dooku, that convinced him he needed to stay. Duty must come first.

But living without her was a physical pain, a dull ache that resided deep inside him. It was the ache that had plagued him after her letters stopped, but magnified by a thousand. Sometimes he could hardly rise in the morning, so strong were the protestations of the Force bond.

Matters became even more difficult, if that was possible, when she told him she was pregnant. The thought of their child flooded him with warmth, but he knew that as always, his first devotion must be to duty. The disappointment and hurt in her voice when he broke the news had been terrible. Worse was the fact that she miscarried later that very night. He knew it had been a message from the Force, no matter what Padmé thought. A warning that his transgressions against the bond would not be tolerated for much longer. And Obi-Wan took the hint.

The two years following were some of the happiest of his life. Through the war and all of its difficulties and Ventress’s kidnapping and the rest of it, Obi-Wan knew he had Padmé to rely on. The starfire of his love for her took his breath away; never had he imagined that it could feel like this. He sometimes glanced pityingly at his fellow Jedi, sorry for them that they couldn’t share the wonderful feelings that came from love, which seemed second only to the beauty of the Force.

And now … now Obi-Wan couldn’t imagine how he would have gotten through the months after Mustafar without Padmé. She had taught him so much about the nature of grief — was still teaching him, actually — and she was always ready to hug him, to comfort him, to listen, to do whatever he said he needed. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how she was able to give so much of herself to him and never ask for anything in return. How she could love him so completely despite all the things he had done and how very far from perfect he was.

He had never imagined he’d marry. But he knew he was making precisely the right decision.

Obi-Wan rolled, pulling the covers over himself and trying in vain to get comfortable. He reached automatically for her hand to squeeze, but his fingers met only empty air.

Right. That blasted custom.

He had tried to be respectful of Nubian traditions relating to marriage, even though there seemed to be so many of them, an equal number striking him as extremely silly. But this one had to be the most ridiculous. Why did the groom and bride need to sleep apart on the night before the wedding, and not see each other until the ceremony the following day? What possible purpose could that serve (other than to drive the poor groom to distraction)? He’d protested, of course, but they’d all laughed away his complaints, even Padmé.

He told her the real reason for his concern later, the reason that made him redden with embarrassment whenever he thought of it. And, in her typical fashion, she’d embraced him for a long moment before smiling gently.

“Obi-Wan, I won’t be on the Outer Rim,” she’d said with a chuckle. “I’m just downstairs. You can come and see me if you really need to.”

“But the tradition —”

“Never mind that. You know perfectly well I’m only doing it for my parents’ benefit, because they did it too before they got married. What they don’t know can’t hurt them.” She winked. “Remember?”

He’d laughed then, and kissed her soundly. “I love you.”

Again she held him. “I know.”

Now, he reflected that he was in little danger from nightmares if he couldn’t fall asleep in the first place. Were all men this nervous before they married?

“You know very well they are, Obi-Wan.”

His eyes flew open at the sound of Qui-Gon’s voice. The Force ghost was shimmering softly at the end of the bed.

“Thanks for the reassurance, Master. I think.”

“I cannot hold this form for long, but I wanted to offer my advance congratulations,” Qui-Gon told him. “I believe it is the best decision the two of you could possibly have made.”

“Er — thank you,” Obi-Wan said, feeling at once puzzled and touched. He looked away for a moment, considering his next words carefully. “I was wondering if — well — if you’re planning to be there.”

“Your marriage is an event I would not miss,” Qui-Gon answered. “Rest assured I will be there, if not perhaps in bodily form. I’m so very proud of you.”

Obi-Wan choked back a mirthless laugh. “How could you be? I’ve failed at almost everything you asked of me, every promise I made to you before your death. I don’t see what I’ve done to deserve your pride.”

“To use your word: everything,” replied the Force ghost. “Ever since you were apprenticed to me, I’ve had many expectations for you. Obi-Wan, you have exceeded all of them except one.”

The younger man scrubbed a hand over his face. “And what would that be?” he asked, with a sickening feeling that he knew exactly to which expectation Qui-Gon was referring.

“I expected that you would exceed my expectations — which you have done, and admirably. I’ve always thought of you as a son, always. And you fulfilled your promise to me to the best of your ability, which is the most I have the right to ask. Your apprentice chose his own path.”

“That’s what Padmé keeps saying,” Obi-Wan sighed.

“She’s right. You ought to listen to her,” Qui-Gon advised. “She has grown into a very wise young woman. As will your daughter, someday, if you let her.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I’ve tried to begin releasing unhealthy attachments, since the twins are growing ready to be trained.”

“That’s good, but keep in mind that a little attachment is healthy, even for a Jedi. Your attachment to Padmé has resulted in many positive attributes being added to your personality. I have long believed that the Order’s principle of non-attachment was flawed, not least of which because so many of the Jedi’s duties are focused around the outside world. One cannot truly connect with the larger galaxy unless one has an inkling of what those beings experience. And part of the emotional makeup of most beings is love. Attachment.”

“Not for me,” Obi-Wan replied. “At least, I was never supposed to become attached to anyone. The bond precluded that.”

“On the contrary.” Qui-Gon shook his head. “The very fact that you possess the ability to form bonds is a sign that yes, you were meant to have attachments. The Council had simply grown so blind to the facts and so arrogant with its own power that its members could not see that. Your bond is a gift, Obi-Wan. It has allowed you to embrace a larger view of the Force, though you likely don’t perceive it that way. More importantly, your son has inherited your ability, and it will be a great asset to Luke if you teach him how to manage it correctly.”

It’s not an asset, it’s a curse, Obi-Wan thought, but he didn’t say so. “I suppose.”

“You will see,” Qui-Gon smiled. “In any case, I should leave you to rest. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“Don’t remind me.” Obi-Wan bit his lip.

“You’ll do fine. I know it.”

Obi-Wan turned again as the Force ghost flickered out of sight, even less sure how he was going to get to sleep than he had been before.

It was all well and good for Qui-Gon to praise the existence of Force bonds — after all, he wasn’t the person who had to cope with one. Attachment might be an asset, but not if one was constantly losing the important people in one’s life. Not if one’s entire family had been slaughtered, and if one was starting over from scratch with another. Not if one had watched one’s best friend burn alive …

He shook his head, trying to deflect the macabre path his thoughts had taken. Qui-Gon had also said that he considered Obi-Wan a son, which the latter supposed was only fair since he’d long thought of his Master as the closest being to a father he would ever know. Of course Obi-Wan had had a biological father, but as he’d been taken from his natal home and family at the age of six months, he would be hard-pressed to identify that man if they tripped over each other in the street. Qui-Gon was the easiest substitute, once they were paired as Master and Padawan, and Obi-Wan had naturally tried to work for him and impress him as a son might a father. Judging by the Force ghost’s latest words, he had succeeded.

However, the other side of the situation was that Obi-Wan often worried about being a suitable father to Luke. While he could to some extent mirror Qui-Gon’s actions, the fact remained that their relationship had still been at its heart that of teacher and student. Luke was biologically Obi-Wan’s son, and was being raised as such from birth. Therefore, the dynamic would be different even though some of the same elements were present. The same went for Leia, and for any future children Obi-Wan and Padmé might have.

And, of course, my last attempt at being a father turned out so well. Obi-Wan snorted bitterly at that thought, though he knew the comparison was in some ways unfair. He and Anakin had been brothers much more than father and son, and both had known it. Still …

But none of these ruminations could be considered and solved tonight, especially since he didn’t have Padmé to help marshal his emotions. It was best not to engage in those lines of thought just before sleeping, in any case. He had learned that the hard way.

With a last sigh Obi-Wan settled carefully into a meditative trance, and soon drifted off to dream.

***

She’s getting married tomorrow.

The railing felt rough in Jobal’s grip, rough and cold despite the heat of the previous day. She stared out at the moonlight, the cool, shimmering reflections in the water, the wind rustling lightly through the trees, and she sighed. This place was so full of guilt and self-recrimination that sometimes its inhabitants literally seemed to be drowning in it, and the Naberries’ matriarch was no exception. She knew, though, that whatever Padmé and particularly Obi-Wan were feeling was ten times worse than her own regrets. Their difficulties seemed to have to do with Anakin Skywalker’s death, and were more than the sum of just simple grief, but the couple was so circumspect about their suffering that Jobal felt it would have been an intrusion to ask.

So she concentrated on her own guilt, guilt that seemed to be especially strong on the night before her daughter’s wedding. She should have been feeling happy and excited, and she was, but anguish blossomed like a malevolent weed, and she was powerless before it.

She was powerless, too, before the flood of memories: Padmé’s birth (at home, in a ferocious and unusual rainstorm); her first steps; her first words; her first day at school (“Wanna stay home with you, Mama!”); her application and acceptance into the Apprentice Legislators (“I can’t come down yet, Mom, I still have eighteen pages to write!”); a side stint on the Refugee Relief Committee. Her election as Queen, and all the new worry that had come with it. The more justified worry when the Trade Federation had invaded. The fact that this worry had only served to prepare Jobal for the long years after her daughter was named to the Senate. Then there had been the end of the war, Padmé’s “death” and the desperate period of mourning after it. And following the wedding, they would lose her again …

“Mom?”

Jobal turned in surprise to see her youngest child behind her, looking tired but alert. “Are you all right, sweetheart? You should be sleeping, you’ve got a very busy day tomorrow.”

Padmé shrugged. “I know. Leia woke up awhile ago and after I put her back to bed, I just couldn’t get to sleep again. I saw you out here and …”

“Oh, dear, I could have taken care of her,” Jobal exclaimed. “You shouldn’t trouble yourself.”

“Well, I’m going to have to anyway after you and Dad and Sola leave,” Padmé pointed out. “I may as well get used to it now. I mean, I’ll need to if Obi-Wan and I have another baby, too. You won’t — well —” She bit her lip.

“I know.” Jobal shook her head regretfully. “Nothing about this situation is fair.”

“No need to tell me that life isn’t fair.” Padmé chuckled ruefully. “I first learned that back in primary school.”

“I think we all did,” her mother said. “That doesn’t mean we need to like it, though, or that we shouldn’t complain about it once in awhile.”

Padmé tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe. Personally, complaining always seemed pointless to me. It’s not going to change anything.”

Jobal smiled and regarded her daughter, struck again by how much she had grown up, matured. She wondered why she was constantly noticing this, why it wasn’t simply a given to her now after all the positions of power and responsibility Padmé had held. Perhaps because she also remembered moments of incredible immaturity, when Padmé had acted less than half her age, and certainly not in a manner befitting a former queen. Then again, her parents hadn’t always acted maturely either.

“You and Obi-Wan are thinking about having more children?” she asked, to distract herself from this guilt-inducing line of thought.

“At some point, yes,” Padmé nodded. “It won’t be for another couple of years yet, not until the twins are a little older. But … we’re part of something bigger here, bigger than ourselves and our family. We have to make sure that the Jedi Order can resurrect itself when the time comes. Luke and Leia will be part of that, probably even leading it, as will any other children we have. And …” She bit her lip.

“What?” Jobal leaned closer.

“Our children will very likely be responsible for Palpatine’s eventual downfall, if such a thing occurs in the future,” Padmé said quietly. “The remaining Jedi seem to believe they have a destiny.”

Jobal gripped the railing behind her. “And does Obi-Wan agree?”

“I think so. He accepts it, although I’m sure he feels the same way I do. We want to wait as long as possible before the kids have to become involved.”

“Understandable,” Jobal replied. “The only thing I would say is that you shouldn’t try to postpone this if it wants to happen at a specific time. Sometimes you can’t fight destiny.”

“I know,” Padmé chuckled. “Believe me, I know.”

They were both looking towards the far end of the veranda, to the place where the ceremony would take place the following day. Jobal could feel her face colouring, a hot blush rising to her cheeks, and she hoped it was dark enough that her daughter wouldn’t see.

“Do you think —” Her voice caught, and she had to begin again. “Do you — have you ever forgiven your father and I for what we did? How we acted?”

Padmé didn’t need to ask what her mother was talking about. “Mom, of course I have,” she answered. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because what we did was wrong!” Jobal burst out. “It was horrible, it was an inexcusable violation of your privacy, and Obi-Wan’s too! We had no right to interfere, none!”

Padmé looked startled. “Mom, that’s all in the past. I hardly ever think about it anymore.”

“Well, I do!” Jobal cried. “I do! Some days after the funeral it was all I could remember, all I could recollect about you, how it crushed you and how you refused to speak to us for weeks. How we treated you when you returned home with Obi-Wan in tow. I think about that and I want to go back in time and shake some sense into myself. Goddesses only know what we were thinking!”

“You were making the best decision you thought you could at the time,” Padmé replied diplomatically. “You were the parents and I was the child. I should have respected this fact. Now that I’m a mother myself, I understand that.”

“No! No, you don’t!” Jobal exclaimed, beginning to pace back and forth in her agitation. “I’m sorry, dear, but you don’t. Not yet. Because Luke and Leia are too young to ask for things they want — and I don’t mean material possessions, I mean emotional things, things that really matter. Things that everyone should experience, like love and friendship and belonging. The simple pleasures of writing a letter to a friend — or a lover — and getting a response back. Seeing that friend or love again after a long period of separation. Padmé, I was so blinded by what I thought was best for you that I didn’t see you were perfectly capable of making your own decisions! I was wrong. Wrong, completely wrong. And, goddesses have mercy on me, I didn’t see that until I thought you’d died, and by then it was too late!”

“But Mom, you know what happened,” Padmé said. “I didn’t die. I’m right here. And I’m getting married tomorrow. You’ll get to see it. That alone is a gift from the goddesses. They probably agree with me that you don’t deserve punishment, because all of what you’re describing is in the past!”

“I know, I know.” Jobal waved her hand in the air as though trying to shoo away her daughter’s words. “But the passage of time does little to alter guilt, to change the fact that you know you should have acted in a certain way, in the right way, and you didn’t. You chose the wrong path.”

“Perhaps,” allowed Padmé. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I’ve been saying to Obi-Wan for the past seven months, and that’s that at some point, you have to stop focusing on the past, enumerating all the wrongs you’ve committed in your lifetime. If you do that you’ll just eat yourself up from the inside out. I mean, have I made mistakes before? Has Obi-Wan? Of course! But what I know, and what I’ve been trying to teach him, is that if you fixate on your failures for too long, you’ll become paralyzed, and you’ll set yourself up to fail even more. You have to let them go, leave them behind.”

Jobal paused, one hand halfway to her mouth. “Obi-Wan feels guilty? Whatever about?”

At this Padmé averted her eyes, as though realizing she’d unintentionally betrayed a confidence. “Many things. His own past actions cause him a lot of pain. That, mixed in with the grief over losing Ani … well, we’re both not the same people we used to be.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Jobal said sympathetically. “I’m not the same person I was, either.”

“Yes, exactly. Before the end of the war you would never have engaged in this kind of self-recrimination,” Padmé replied, delicately turning the conversation back to the topic at hand.

“True.” Jobal shook her head, then leveled a pointed gaze directly at the younger woman. “But … do you forgive me?”

Padmé rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Mother.”

“I know, I know, it’s stupid and silly and all the rest of it, but I just need to know. I just want to understand. Then I’ll let it go and I’ll never think of it again. All right?”

“Okay.” Padmé tsked fondly. “Of course I forgive you, Mom. I forgave you a long time ago. Life is too short to hold onto grudges like that. And these days I have neither the time nor the energy that would take. I love Obi-Wan, I’m marrying him, and you and Daddy are giving me away. That’s all we need to focus on right now.”

Jobal released a sigh and embraced her daughter for a long moment, pausing to kiss her on both cheeks. “You’ll make a beautiful bride, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Mom.” There were tears gathering in Padmé’s eyes. “I’m just — just so happy that you’ll get to see it.”

“So am I, dear.” Jobal swiped at her own eyes. “So am I.”

***

I’m getting married today.

Her eyes sprang open to the familiar confines of her old bedroom, the holopics on the wall beginning to reflect the rising sun. She remembered waking up like this countless times before, just as the dawn touched her face. She would lie in bed and plan the upcoming day — when she was going to swim, when she would bask in the sun, what time she and her parents and sister would head out to the fields for a picnic, what work needed to be completed on the latest policy documents. Then she would gaze around at those holopics, remembering where she had been when they were taken, what she’d been doing. There was a family portrait; images of Sola and Padmé as babies; the Naberries’ wedding photo; Padmé’s installation as Queen; her induction ceremony to the Senate; Sola’s daughters; the mission Padmé had undertaken with the Refugee Relief Committee at age eight. She smiled at the memories.

On the surface, this day would seem quite different from any other she’d ever experienced. She was marrying, pledging her life to another for eternity. It would be different, but not so very much from what she was used to. She and Obi-Wan had been together and in love for so long that today’s ceremony was really more about making the union official than creating it from scratch. Still, some things would change: Padmé Amidala would become Padmé Kenobi, for one. On Naboo both women and men had the option to take their spouse’s name, and Padmé was determined that she be linked with her fiancé in this manner. Her father, conversely, had chosen Jobal’s name.

Padmé rose slowly, stretching and yawning. It had been a peaceful night, more peaceful than any she could remember in the last few months. She had thought Obi-Wan might seek her out despite the tradition; she’d told him he could, after all. But there had been only three interruptions to her sleep, all of them coming in the form of the twins. Her family had subsequently promised that on the morning of the wedding, Luke and Leia would be kept occupied so that she had time to dress and make herself ready for the ceremony. They really were going far out of their way to help, and while she found it a little intrusive sometimes, she would never have commented to this effect. It was wonderful simply to have them there.

She visited the fresher, climbed back into bed and rearranged herself, intending perhaps to sleep a little more, but a soft tap on the door distracted her. It slid aside and in came Sola carrying a breakfast tray. “Rise and shine, blushing bride! It’s your big day!”

Padmé laughed. “Funnily enough, I remember, Sis. And I was going to get my own breakfast, you know.”

“Nonsense,” Sola replied. “You shouldn’t have to cook, not today. Besides — hey, don’t you dare come in here!” she shouted suddenly at someone in the hall, moving quickly to block the entrance.

“Why not?” asked Obi-Wan’s voice. He sounded mischievous.

A slap and a muffled “Ouch!” were heard then. “You know exactly why not! I won’t have you sneaking into this room and catching a glimpse of her before the ceremony!”

“Oh, so she’s inside?” Obi-Wan chuckled. “Thanks for the information. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Again Sola’s hand connected with some part of his exposed skin. “No, you’re going to forget it, actually. I wish I knew how to do those mind trick things.”

“They only work on the weak-minded,” Obi-Wan told her.

“We’ll see about that!”

“We will?” There was a shuffling outside and he called, “Good morning, darling!” to Sola’s noises of outrage.

Padmé burst into giggles. “Good morning, Obi-Wan!” she called back around a mouthful of scrambled eggs and toast.

“You aren’t supposed to talk to her either!” Sola shouted, but Obi-Wan’s footsteps were already padding away. “Men!” huffed the elder sister as the door closed fully again.

“You can’t blame him, Sis,” Padmé said. “We haven’t been apart for a night since the end of the war. He loves me.”

“Well, one part of him definitely does,” Sola grinned. “And it’s sure not his head. Guys in the morning …” She chuckled. “He does have a very cute butt, though.”

“Sola!” shrieked Padmé. Her face flamed.

“He must be pretty big, too,” the elder continued, unabashed. She held her hands at arm’s length, fingers pointing towards each other in a clear demonstration. “What would you say, maybe like this? Or like this?” She moved her fingers apart.

“AUUUUGGHHH! Sola, I swear —”

“What? It’s a valid question. I’m supposed to give you advice about the wedding night, you know. That’s the older sister’s job. And if the couple doesn’t want kids right away, the older sister is responsible for fitting the husband with a sheath. And that involves —”

“You are talking about my fiancé!” Padmé cried. “What if he hears you?”

“Actually, that would be great! I could ask him what size he takes!” Sola pulled open the door and leaned against its frame. “Hey, Obi-Wan! How big is your —”

She was abruptly cut off as a pillow hit her square in the face. “Now, Padmé, that’s just bad manners!”

The latter dove under the blankets as footsteps approached the room. “Sola, did you want to ask me something?” Obi-Wan’s clipped Coruscanti accent reverberated through the room.

Padmé was sure her cheeks must have caught fire. What did Sola think she was doing?

“Yes, as a matter of fact! I wanted to know —”

“Don’t even think about it!” Padmé’s voice was muffled under the covers, but still audible.

“Darling?” His steps thudded closer. “What are you doing under there?”

She shot her hand out from the blankets and pointed in the direction that she hoped Sola was standing. “I don’t know her,” Padmé announced.

“But —”

“So, Obi-Wan,” Sola barreled on. “I was wondering something.”

“Yes?”

Oh, goddesses, she’s actually going to do it! Padmé stuffed a fist in her mouth and bit down to keep from screaming. This had to be the most humiliating moment of her life, even over and above the pants incident when she was Queen. Definitely over and above the pants incident.

“I was wondering,” Sola began, “what size —”

She’s crazy!

“— you’d like your toasting drink to be?”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said. “A very small amount would be preferable. Jedi don’t generally consume alcoholic beverages.”

“Right. Okay, that’s all! You can scram now!”

“Of course, that blasted tradition.” Obi-Wan laughed. “Right, I’ll see you later, Padmé.” He patted her arm beneath the blankets, to Sola’s accompanying squeals, and the door clicked shut.

She deserves it, Padmé thought. Tricking me like that! But she had to admit, feeling his touch and hearing him say her name — goddesses, she would never get tired of the way he said her name — had caused a little of the anger and embarrassment to ebb away. Warmth spread through her, radiating from the point of contact, and she smiled despite herself.

“All right, Padmé, he’s gone. You can come out now.” Sola was tapping her shoulder.

Padmé flung aside the blankets and sat up, glaring at her sister. “Sola, what were you thinking? How could you do that to me? To him? Goddesses, imagine if you’d actually asked — he might never have recovered!”

“Really?” Sola said. She was tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“Don’t you dare!” Padmé hissed. “He’s sensitive! He values his privacy! I don’t even want to think what would have happened if —”

“Sis, calm down,” her sister replied, suddenly serious. “It was a joke, all right?”

Padmé blinked in disbelief. “A — a joke?”

“Yes. I was never really going to ask him. Come on, you know me, I’m not that mean.”

“But the tradition —”

“There’s a tradition, yes, but not the one you think. I made that stuff up, about the older sister taking care of the wedding night details. I mean, she can if the couple wants her to, but she doesn’t usually go around asking the groom his … size. But it is a tradition for the bride’s older siblings to thoroughly embarrass her on her wedding day. So did it work?”

“Did it work?” Padmé repeated faintly. “Sola, that was the most embarrassing moment of my life!”

“Even more than the pants incident?”

“Yes!”

“Great!” Sola grinned, clapping her hands together. “I’ve taken care of my part of the bargain, then. For the rest of the day I promise I’ll be nothing but helpful. Really.”

“Sure, sure.”

“No, honestly! I’m done with the embarrassing stuff. Now I get to help you dress.”

Padmé shook her head and tossed back the covers, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t let you. You could be lying, after all.”

“Oh, Padmé, please!” Abruptly the elder threw herself at her sister’s feet, hands clasped together. “Please, please, please! I promise I’ll be good, it was just a dumb tradition, I didn’t really ask Obi-Wan anything! You have to let me help!”

“Technically I don’t, tradition or no tradition,” Padmé chuckled. “Besides, I sense a bit of unfairness here. You said it’s the older sibling’s job to embarrass the bride on her wedding day, but you don’t have any other sisters or brothers. Who embarrassed you when you married Darred?”

“Oh, Mom did. It’s a funny story, actually. I’ll have to tell you later. She’s the one who first introduced me to the tradition.”

“Remind me to speak to her later, then,” Padmé grumbled. “At least I know who to blame.”

“Yes, exactly!” Sola agreed. “Blame Mom! Now, can I help?”

Padmé huffed out a breath and pretended to look exasperated. They both knew she was teasing. “Oh, all right. If you insist. But I’ve got my eye on you.”

“All right!” exclaimed Sola. She leapt up again and started over to the closet, then paused. “I just have one more question, though.”

“What?” Padmé tilted her head curiously.

Sola turned, a mischievous grin beginning to spread over her face. “What size is he?”

She was already running from the room as a second pillow flew out into the hall.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

The Boy I'm Going to Marry

Hours later a flurry of last-minute preparations was in full swing, though Padmé remained largely unaware of this, sequestered as she was in her room. Her family had told her that all she need do was concentrate on getting dressed and readying herself mentally for what was to come. She had the usual attack of nerves, most pronounced as she stood in front of the full-length mirror in her wedding dress, a veil covering her hair and two long braids hanging down to frame her face and shoulders. This was it. She was getting married — married to a man she never thought would want her, but whom she knew felt as deeply for her as she did for him, and had done so for largely the same number of years. So why was she suddenly so afraid he might change his mind?

“Sola?” Padmé bit her lip, trying to take deep breaths. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Her sister looked up from where she was adjusting the dress’s train. Her smile was gentle. “No, you’re not. You’re just nervous. Try to relax, and it will pass.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because the same thing happened to me, baby sister. It probably happened to Mom, too, and to every other woman who has ever gotten married. You’re taking a big step, so it’s natural to be a little afraid. But I think in your heart you know you’re making the right decision.”

“Yes, but …” She swallowed. “What if he doesn’t turn up?”

“He will. He loves you very much, Padmé. I can see that every time he sets eyes on you. He looks at you so adoringly, like you’re the centre of his universe. Like all his dreams are being fulfilled just by seeing you alive and well and happy. And you know what?”

“What?”

“He’s probably wondering the exact same thing — whether you’ll get cold feet and decide you don’t want to go through with it.”

Padmé thought about that. Yes, it would be very like Obi-Wan to work himself into a guilty frenzy over her arrival, and his bond was probably driving him to distraction in any case. She felt a little better now.

There was a soft knock on the door, and presently Ruwee and Jobal peered through.

“Everything is set up and in place,” Jobal announced. “Father Proxollo has arrived, and he knows at whose ceremony he’ll be officiating. He’s surprised, but he doesn’t mind and he’s promised to keep the secret. Nandi and Teckla are downstairs with the twins. All we need now is …”

“The bride,” Ruwee completed.

Padmé turned back to face the mirror. She felt vaguely queasy again.

“She’s ready,” Sola said. “A bit nervous, but ready. How’s the groom doing?”

“More nervous,” Ruwee chuckled. “Much more, in fact. He seems to think you won’t turn up, dear.”

Sola glanced at Padmé. “You see?”

That at least brought a smile to Padmé’s face. “I guess I’d better go reassure him, then.”

“Yes, I think you’d better.” Jobal came fully into the room and made some adjustments of her own to both her children’s outfits, straightening the shoulders on Sola’s gown and fluffing out one of Padmé’s braids. “Sola, you should go. Nandi and Teckla are by the veranda entrance. You’ll walk out behind them in the processional.”

“Right.” Sola gave her sister a quick hug. “Good luck. You’ll be great, I know it.”

“Thanks,” Padmé replied a little shakily.

Jobal and Ruwee regarded their youngest daughter, warm smiles lighting their eyes. “Well, sweetheart, I guess this is it,” Ruwee said. “I’m sure there are things I’m supposed to say to you, but now the time has come I seem to have forgotten my lines.”

“Me too,” Jobal confessed.

Padmé turned away from the mirror at last, a smile creasing her features. “That’s all right. I don’t think I remember mine either.”

“My beautiful, grown-up girl,” Ruwee sighed. “And now I’ve got to give you away. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“Obi-Wan will take care of me, Dad,” Padmé said. “I promise. Just as I’ll take care of him.”

“I know. And it’s time for your mother and me to let you go — well past that time, as a matter of fact. But I never realized how difficult it would be.”

“Dear, we’ve got to stop, I’m going to cry,” Jobal chided her husband. “And you know how long it took me to do my makeup.”

“As if I could forget. One hour, fifty-six minutes.”

“And twenty-three seconds,” said Jobal.

Padmé laughed at the interplay. Goddesses, she was going to miss this.

Both parents kissed the top of their daughter’s head, then offered their arms to her. They walked from the room linked together, Jobal and Ruwee trying to understand how this moment could have come so quickly, while Padmé marveled at the fact that they were actually going to give her away, to Obi-Wan. She hadn’t been lying when she told her mother she was forgiven, but it was still hard to believe that after all those years of strife, they now approved heartily of the union.

They made their way down the central staircase, at Padmé’s careful pace. Near the bottom were the two cooks, the twins supported in their arms, and Sola standing next to them. Luke and Leia were surprisingly silent, their attention now riveted on their mother as though they realized the gravity of the occasion.

“All right, I think we’re ready,” Jobal informed the assemblage. “Nandi, the music, if you please.”

Nandi nodded and hurried over to the HoloNet music receiver, switching it on. A light, airy fugue filled the room and the veranda beyond it, part of the songs the Naberrie family had chosen for the wedding.

“Remember the processional routine, just as we practiced,” Jobal said. “Teckla, Nandi, you go first with the babies, then let a few seconds pass, then Sola, you go, and we’ll enter at the crescendo. Don’t forget to walk slowly, in time to the music.”

Everyone nodded, and the two cooks proceeded through the double doors.

“Good luck, baby sister,” Sola smiled over her shoulder, grasping her small flower bouquet and following after a beat.

“Take a deep breath, sweetheart,” Ruwee advised. “There’s no need to be nervous.”

“You’ve never been more beautiful than you are today,” Jobal added. “Never.”

“Thanks,” Padmé whispered.

The music swelled and her parents led her forward into the warm sunshine. She could see flowers arrayed around the balcony, with a big pot of leias nestling on the rail behind the holy man and Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan.

Oh, he looked magnificent. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in his form, lithe and slender, dressed in his full robes complete with cloak and lightsaber. His hood was down, and his coppery brown hair gleamed in the sunlight. His blue eyes were wide with the sight of her, and she suddenly imagined that they must have similar expressions of awe and amazement on their faces.

The Naberries continued slowly down the aisle at a pace that seemed interminable to Padmé. When they reached the row of chairs set a little back from the holy man, where Teckla and Nandi were now sitting with the twins, Ruwee took Padmé’s hand in his and kissed it softly before taking a seat. She was left to proceed with Jobal alone.

“Ah-ma-ma!” Luke shrieked, and everyone laughed. The baby was stretching his arms toward Padmé, straining against Nandi’s grasp. Padmé grinned affectionately at him.

They reached the holy man and Jobal took both the bride and the groom’s arms. She kissed Padmé’s fingers and stroked them softly, then pressed her hand into Obi-Wan’s and closed his around his love’s. Jobal then stepped back with a broad smile. Again Padmé felt warmth spreading from the place where their skin touched. Obi-Wan draped his arm about her shoulder in a brief embrace, then took her hand again as they faced the holy man.

Father Proxollo smiled at the couple, opening his book to read the service. “We are gathered here today to witness the coming together of two people, Padmé Amidala and Obi-Wan Kenobi, whose hearts and spirits are entwined as one,” he began. “They now desire to profess before the galaxy their intention henceforth to walk the road of life together.”

There was a sniffle from the audience; Padmé was quite sure it had come from either her mother or her sister.

“To these two young people, this marriage signifies the birth of a new spirit, a spirit which is a part of each of us, yet not of any one of us alone,” the holy man continued. “This ‘birth of spirit’ reminds us of spring, the season when all life is reborn and looms again. It is appropriate, therefore, that this wedding of Padmé and Obi-Wan be in the spring, and that it be under the open sky, where we are close to the earth and to the unity of life, the totality of living things of which we are a part.”

She smiled as she listened to the words they had chosen, the words which seemed to resonate so deeply for both herself and her partner. He had added the parts about the earth and unity, parts which most likely came from his Jedi teachings about the Living Force. It was a tribute to Qui-Gon as well.

Father Proxollo now addressed the couple directly, reading a poem they had chosen. “You were born to be together, and together you shall be forevermore. You shall be together when the wings of death scatter your days. Ay, you shall be together even in your silent memory. But let there be spaces in your togetherness, and let the winds of the goddesses dance between you …”

A soft breeze rustled the flowers, and Padmé looked over to see that Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed, a small smile on his face, as though he were meditating. But why, during their wedding …?

And then, as there was a soft flicker near the leias, she understood. The shape did not quite have form, nor did it have substance, but there was clearly something there, and Padmé thought she knew what. Surely Qui-Gon himself wouldn’t miss this; Obi-Wan had spoken to her many times of his relationship with the elder, and it seemed that they considered each other as close to father and son as a Master and Padawan could. That would explain the gentle meditative state being held by her partner, and also the look on his face. She squeezed his hand and smiled broadly at the shape; just once, it winked.

Ruwee and Jobal recited two poems, hugging each of the couple after they did so. The holy man reopened his book and read, “Love is patient; love is kind. Love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way. It is not irritable or resentful. It does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and endures all things. And now faith, and hope, and love abide, and the greatest of these is love.”

He stepped back, allowing Padmé and Obi-Wan to face each other. Her partner began, in his lilting accent, to say the words they had written and memorized for each other.

“There was darkness for a long time and then there was light, and that light was you. Your love has given me wings, and our journey continues today. I pledge before this assembled company to be your husband from this day forward. Let us make of our two lives one life. I want you for today, tomorrow, and forever.”

Padmé replied, grasping his hands firmly. “I will cherish our union and I love you more each day than I did the day before. I trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, love you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart and my love, from this day forward so long as we both shall live, and beyond.”

They repeated several other platitudes, designed to reinforce the strength of their love for each other. She understood that in any other situation, those words would probably have seemed trite and clichéd, but now, somehow, they took on an added meaning, a deeper significance of commitment and love.

“Padmé, please repeat after me,” Father Proxollo said.

She felt her heart leap in her chest as she recited the vows. “I, Padmé, take you, Obi-Wan, as my friend and love, beside me and apart from me, in laughter and in tears. In conflict and tranquility, asking that you be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, trusting what I do not know yet, in all the ways that life may find me.”

“Place the ring on his finger,” the holy man instructed.

She took Obi-Wan’s hand and slid the slim circle of bronzium onto its digit, unable to stop a wide grin from spreading over her face. He smiled back, equal parts disbelief and utter, trusting love. Padmé in turn saw nothing but Obi-Wan, nothing but his blue eyes, when he began to repeat the same vows.

“I, Obi-Wan, take you, Padmé, as my friend and love, beside me and apart from me, in laughter and in tears. In conflict and tranquility, asking that you be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, trusting what I do not know yet, in all the ways that life may find me.”

Padmé held her breath as the ring slipped onto her finger, feeling the touch of his callused hands upon her skin. She barely heard Father Proxollo’s next words, so lost was she in his eyes and their hands clasped together. Obi-Wan seemed similarly disoriented, smiling in a way that indicated he couldn’t quite believe what they’d just done. But neither did he seem to be entertaining any regrets; it was just that the situation was so discordantly unfamiliar to him.

She came back to herself just in time to hear the holy man intone, “Now you are two, but there is only one life ahead of you. Go now and enter into the days of your togetherness, as I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Obi-Wan placed gentle hands on her shoulders, drawing her towards him, and the outside world was obviated instantly as their lips met. There might have been applause in the background, applause mingled with Sola’s cheers and the twins’ happy shrieks, but neither husband nor wife took any notice. Their universe contained only each other, only his warmth and her perfume and the light prickle of his beard against the softness of her skin.

She was his. He was hers.

And now, more than ever, they were one.

***

Bride and groom pulled each other into the sitting room, laughing and talking, buoyant with excitement. They were husband and wife now, not mere partners but actually linked physically and psychically in all the ways that seemed to matter. Padmé kept looking down at her hand, at her wedding ring, to make sure it still existed and that this was not just some fantastic dream.

She was glad that tradition dictated they exchange their devotion gifts in private, for she felt she needed a few moments with Obi-Wan for this all to become real. They sat on one of the couches, side by side, and each retrieved their offering from where it had been placed by the Naberrie family on the table prior to the ceremony.

“You go first,” they both said, and laughed.

“It’s all right, I can go first if you like,” Padmé said when they had recovered.

“Of course, just so long as you open my present first,” Obi-Wan replied. “Here.” He handed her a small wooden box.

“You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?” she teased.

“Perhaps.” He blushed slightly.

Padmé smiled and held up the box curiously. It reminded her vaguely of the container in which he kept Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, Anakin’s Padawan braid and their letters, but this one was different. More compact, for one thing, made of another material and intricately carved. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Well, I found the wood,” he admitted. “But the rest is my work. Open it.”

“Oh —” Now it was Padmé’s turn to go red; she had assumed the box itself was the gift. But no: as she tilted it to find the small catch, she could hear something rattling around inside.

Her fingers fumbled with the box’s edge and she drew open the lid, slowly, tenderly. She could sense Obi-Wan watching her closely, even though she did not look up. The top came undone, and Padmé gasped.

Inside, on the familiar length of jerba leather cord, sat a small carved charm. It had worn smooth very gradually over the years, but the minute symbols etched into it were still plainly visible. She closed her eyes against a sudden flood of memories … memories of being fourteen, just barely out of childhood herself, the weight of an entire planet on her shoulders as she bent to comfort the nine-year-old boy crouched on the floor of the Royal Nubian craft. He had handed her this tiny necklace, and his words reverberated in her mind, as clearly as if he’d just said them.

I made this for you, so you can remember me. I carved it out of a japor snippet. It will bring you good fortune.

And her response: It’s beautiful, but I don’t need this to remember you by. Many things will change when we reach the capital, Ani, but my caring for you will remain.

She could feel tears filling her eyes as she handled the tiny charm. “Where did you — how did you — I thought we had to leave it behind —”

“We did, but … I went back for it,” he explained, suddenly unable to look at her. “A couple of months ago, when you first talked about devotion gifts. I snuck out one night, took the boat to the mainland. No one saw me. I’d carved a replacement, a decoy, so when I got to the crypt, I switched them. Then I took the real one and came back here before morning. You never knew.”

Padmé became aware that her mouth was hanging open and closed it quickly. She couldn’t decide whether to be happy, thankful, sad, infuriated or some bizarre combination of all of those. “I — but — the risk, Obi-Wan — what were you thinking?”

His face fell a little. “I know how difficult it was for you to leave it behind, and — I regret asking you to do that. So I thought, if you could have it back … it’s like … a bit of Anakin, perhaps …”

“Of course.” She cradled the necklace in her fingers, thinking, remembering. “I just miss him. I miss him so much.”

He looked away again, seeming suddenly embarrassed. “I — I’m sorry, I should have thought of something else.”

“No, Obi-Wan, don’t apologize!” she exclaimed. “Don’t, I just — I was just surprised, that’s all. I worry about you, your safety, and going into Theed like that —”

“It was all right, actually.” He still wouldn’t make eye contact, staring into his lap instead. “No one saw me, I’d have known if they had. And I did it at night because I knew you’d worry otherwise.”

“I certainly would have.” Padmé ran her fingertips over the intricate little carvings. “But … but I am glad you got it back. I missed it a lot.”

“Oh. Well — erm — I’m glad too, then,” Obi-Wan said. “I just wondered — maybe it wasn’t the right thing after all —”

“Of course it was.” She reached down and took his hand. “I can’t imagine a more thoughtful gift. Thank you.”

Finally he met her gaze. “You’re welcome.”

“Here, help me put it on.” She lifted the back of her veil and turned, allowing him to drape the jerba cord around her neck. She then cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, long and slow and deep. Padmé knew they were both thinking of Anakin, but she didn’t want the moment to be ruined by bad memories.

He embraced her gently, whispering against her cheek. “So, what do you have for me?”

Padmé laughed. “Impatient, aren’t we?”

“Just curious. Can’t I be curious?”

“Of course you can! I just thought it wouldn’t matter, since you’ve renounced material possessions.”

“That’s not fair,” Obi-Wan said, a mock pout creasing his features.

“I know.” Both were laughing by then.

Padmé reached for a small flimsiplast envelope on the table, drawing in a deep breath for courage. She checked it one last time to be sure everything was in order, then handed it to her husband.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Open it and see,” Padmé suggested.

Carefully he slit the top of the envelope with his index finger, reaching inside to pull out a thin set of sheets. His breath caught in his throat as he unfolded them and saw official lettering across the top reading FROM THE DESK OF PADME AMIDALA. The familiar picture of her was right next to it, affixing him with her imperious politician’s stare.

“What …?” he whispered.

“Read it,” she said nervously.

His eyes scanned over the first page, her neat inked handwriting as familiar and comforting to him as her touch. The letter read:

Dear Obi-Wan,

By the time you read this, we will be linked as husband and wife, forever, and I will have been able to deliver it to you freely instead of with fright, wondering if I would be disciplined for merely associating with you. How grateful I am that those days are long past! And ever since we began planning our wedding, I wondered what I ought to give you as a devotion gift. Though the tradition belongs to my people, I nonetheless puzzled over the possibilities — or really, lack thereof. What to give a man who has spent most of his life in monastic contemplation, eschewing all objects? Certainly, no simple material possession would suffice.

But I recalled then how our relationship began, how it blossomed from friendship to something more, and how it did so through the very format in which I communicate with you now. Letters. Words on flimsiplast, so archaic now in most circles. But to me, and I imagine to you, they eventually ended up meaning so much more.

I remember very well what it was like to wait for one of your letters. It was foolish of me, but somehow I always expected an instantaneous response even though in most cases this was impossible. One day after I’d mailed a letter I’d be down in the courier’s room, demanding to know if anything had arrived for me, when odds were my letter had not even left Naboo yet. This didn’t matter, though. I’d wait and wait and wait with the fervor of a youngling expecting gifts on my lifeday, so that when your response came at last, it would be a major event. I’d close myself into my bedroom, if I could, and slowly unfold the letter from its envelope. Sometimes, I’m embarrassed to admit, I would even sniff the flimsi to see if any of your scent remained — though I only clearly recall doing this later, when I knew I loved you.

Your words sustained me. It is never easy for a child to make the transition from youth to teen to adult, and even less so when the focus of an entire planet is placed upon that child. My every move and action was scrutinized by analysts and HoloNet reporters, and even such mundane details as my outfits and my favourite foods were gobbled up by a public hungry for information about their heroic monarch. I lived my life under the most minute of magnifications, and for the most part I simply accepted this as a necessary byproduct of my duty. But some part of me still wished for anonymity, for a little of my old life to return to me if only momentarily.

Your letters represented that life. They were so … normal. You spoke of day-to-day business at the Temple, the missions you had undertaken, any frustrations you might be experiencing, and Anakin. Of course, Anakin.

I hesitated over whether to include him in this letter, because he has of late caused us both so much pain. But I feel it is impossible to ignore his impact on both our lives. He represented an area of common ground between us, as your apprentice, my good friend and later, your brother. I eagerly awaited the parts of your letters which discussed Ani and his latest exploits.

I’m not sure I can adequately communicate to you the importance of your letters in my life. I have tried, but somehow it is much more difficult than I had thought it would be. I suppose a major signal of how crucial they were could be my reaction when they were cut off, when I could no longer look forward to them.

I have long since forgiven my parents for their attitude with regards to our relationship. They were doing only what they thought was best, and they acted entirely without malice. Now that I’m a mother myself, I finally understand this. There is an overwhelming desire to protect your children, not only from outside dangers but also from harm that they might cause to themselves. My parents couldn’t have known that the Jedi Council would make a special exception to its rule of non-attachment; they saw only that my love for you could not possibly be consummated, nor could you marry me, and therefore you had little to offer. They tried to tempt me with other men, any one of whom would have made a very suitable partner and with whom I could probably have fallen in love had my heart not belonged to another. I do not hold this against them.

Nevertheless, I found their actions insulting and stifling. As I have already said, your letters were a bright spot in my life, and as a politician I had no other friends who were not simply hangers-on hoping for a favourable policy decision. You didn’t want anything from me. And so, for that reason and a thousand others besides, I loved you.

And again, a letter served me. I will never forget how I felt as I sat down to write the one which I gave you at the Coruscanti freighter docks. I was taking a huge risk, perhaps the largest emotional risk of my life. Nubian children do not disobey their parents, as I believe I wrote to you. It simply isn’t done. Even when younglings become older, family is extremely important, and anyone who went against the wishes of their family would be marked as cruel and bizarre. For a former Queen and current Senator, any such disobedience on my part would have severe, public, consequences.

But I wrote the letter, because I was tired of hiding and because I felt you deserved some sort of explanation. We’d been friends for too long, and now that I felt something more, I couldn’t possibly keep it inside. We all reach a certain point when we can no longer stomach the demands imposed upon us, and this was mine.

Of course, so much has happened since then. I think back to that early hug at the loading docks and I hardly recognize myself. But for you, my feelings have not changed. I know you’re probably surprised at this, and you may be shaking your head even as you read these words. But it is the truth, as simply as I can tell it.

I loved you, even when I thought I would need to do so from a distance. After I wrote the last letter, I had no idea how you might receive it, but I was determined not to let that change anything. This determination lingered after the Battle of Geonosis, through my pregnancy and miscarriage, and our first tentative steps toward following through on our feelings. It hardened when I found out the twins were coming, through the end of the war, and all the trials we have endured since then.

And because you are so naturally self-effacing and giving of yourself, I can see you shaking your head again. I can see you questioning how this could be possible. Perhaps by all rights it should not be, but it is. The conflicts and trials we have had can only strengthen us in the long run if we allow them to do so. Of course I wish that the war and all its consequences didn’t have to occur. I wish that every night when I hold you and we cry together, and I wish it when I realize we will need to leave this place one day for a greater unknown. But as I have often told you, wishing does little good when the act of doing so will not produce appreciable results. We must look to the future, and we must o so together.

We are linked now in another sense, through the bonds of marriage. This, in my view, changes little about the essence of our relationship, except to make it visible in a way it has not been before. My love for you will remain the same. My desire for you will remain the same. My wish to help you, to comfort you, to be there for you as you have been for me, will remain. I cannot put it in language any plainer than this.

I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I have loved you since I was eighteen years old and we communicated in this very fashion. And I will continue to love you when the universe is but dust.

Padmé

He took a deep breath and carefully refolded the flimsiplast, placing it back inside its envelope. She was watching him closely, but he wasn’t yet sure how to respond to such devout declarations.

“Too much?” Padmé asked softly. “I probably overdid it a little.”

“No —” His voice cracked, and he had to begin again. “I just — I’m still not used to it. Even after all this time. I don’t know how you can possibly still feel the way you do. After everything.”

“Well, so do you,” she pointed out reasonably. “Falling in or out of love isn’t a conscious decision one chooses to make. It just … is. Believe me, there were many people much more suitable than a Jedi for me to love, yet here we sit. It’s not something I can control any more than you can control your bond.”

Obi-Wan clasped her hand, feeling the contours and weight of the ring he had placed there. “You’ve taught me so much.”

“No more than you have taught me,” Padmé said quietly.

By unspoken consent they inched closer, arms encircling one another until they were wrapped in a firm embrace, an embrace from which Obi-Wan did not want to release her. She continued to mean so much to him, faith and hope and love and security and a thousand other things besides which did not even begin to capture the truth of her. When everything else had changed, she remained the one constant, the one implacable person he could always count on. And even when the nature of their relationship had changed, so that he was to some extent as reliant on her as on the Force, she had never wavered in her devotion. He couldn’t imagine coping with the events of Mustafar without her. And now, her warm presence in his arms, the soft rhythm of her breath, and the beat of her heart — all were tangible reminders of his love.

Padmé drew back a little, her brown eyes alight with longing, and next second he had pressed his lips to hers in a silent but fervent kiss. It was far more passionate than the one they had exchanged at the ceremony, more demanding, more desperate. His hands circled her shoulders and trailed downwards, along her side, to briefly brush her breasts. She moaned breathily, then chuckled against his mouth.

“We should save this for tonight.”

Obi-Wan smiled sheepishly. “I know. But I didn’t see you last night.”

Padmé laughed; something about his statement seemed to amuse her. “I guess Sola was right after all.”

He blinked. “What about?”

“Oh, nothing. Something very silly. I’ll tell you later.” She took his hand again and stood, grinning. “Come on, Husband. We’re due back outside.”

“Right, Wife.” He got to his feet, shaking his head. “Wife. I suppose I’ll have to get used to that term now.”

“You will, darling.” She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “But you’ll have time. Forever and ever, as a matter of fact.”

“And ever,” he echoed.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Sweet Heart, Bitter Heart

The rest of the day passed in a dreamy blur, punctuated by more wedding traditions, family speeches, delicious food and time spent with the Naberries. Just before dinner, Sola and Jobal took Padmé to her bedroom to change into what they called her “reception outfit”: a beautiful red off-shoulder gown that accentuated all of her curves, much to Obi-Wan’s appreciation. A strand of delicate ruby beads around her neck, more beads in her hair and fine jewels hanging from her ears completed the ensemble. She looked almost as regal as she had when she was Queen, and it took Obi-Wan’s breath away.

After all had partaken of the evening meal, the HoloNet music receiver was brought out again and a space cleared for dancing. Although Obi-Wan was naturally graceful as a Jedi, he still felt rather silly guiding Padmé to the middle of the designated dance floor while the first notes of a gently romantic tune were heard. But her smile was reassuring as she gently placed one of his hands on her waist and held the other, her right hand resting on his shoulder. She took him through the first few steps and he quickly picked up the rhythm, assuming the lead once he was sure he understood.

Once again his senses became full of her, pinpricks of warmth spreading from where their skin touched and the light scent of her perfume tickling his nostrils. She rested her head against his chest, smiling as she listened to his heart beating. Abandoning all proper dance protocols, Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around her as she had done for him, both sighing happily. They were no longer moving about the dance floor now but simply swaying in place, delighting in each other’s presence.

When the song ended, the Naberrie family and the cooks joined in for several more songs. Padmé danced with first her mother and then her father. Obi-Wan danced with Sola and then Jobal. After this they took the twins, who seemed quite bemused by the whole affair, and danced them around the room. Luke fell asleep soon after this, followed by Leia, and the party broke up so that Padmé and Obi-Wan could put them to bed.

After the twins were tucked securely into their cribs, the couple found themselves back in their familiar bedroom. The bed was made to perfection, the balcony door was slightly open and a number of lit glow rods had been arrayed around the walls, giving the light a flickering quality.

“Did you even sleep last night?” Padmé asked, eyeing the bed.

Obi-Wan looked up guiltily in the midst of unsnapping his belt. “Not much,” he admitted with a sigh.

She shook her head fondly, gliding over to where he stood and running her fingers lightly up his arm. “I didn’t think so. I know you too well.”

“Mmm.” He allowed her to pull off his outer and inner tunics, then tugged her gently against him. She pressed light kisses to his chest, moving up towards his collarbone, and a full-body shiver rippled through him.

Padmé chuckled. “I guess the wedding night won’t be a problem.”

“Probably not.” He wanted so desperately for that to be true. Just for one night. One night.

She combed her fingers lightly through his hair and beard, pausing to trail down his spine and cup a buttock. “Shhh. It’ll be okay.”

Obi-Wan hooked his thumbs through the shoulders of her dress and began to ease it down, exposing her breasts inch by torturous inch. The garment dropped to the floor in a soft shimmer of satin, and it was his turn to kiss her, to touch her, to trace circles around her nipples as her moan made him forget everything but his own name. They kissed, firm and decisive and desperate, tongues mingling and caressing.

“Now for you,” Padmé whispered.

He looked a question at her that was quelled immediately as she bent to pull at his pants, dragging the undergarments with them. She took him into her mouth for a moment, the semi-hardened flesh jumping at her touch. Within moments he was fully erect, biting his lip to resist the urge to buck into her mouth.

She smiled lasciviously around him, eyes shining, and he knew he didn’t have a chance when she looked at him like that. Nevertheless, this wasn’t quite how he wanted matters to proceed, at least not to start out with. So, using every ounce of self-control he possessed, Obi-Wan placed his hand gently on her head, stilling her.

“What is it?” Her face immediately became a mask of concern.

“Not like this,” he whispered, pulling her up so that she was level with him. “Besides, aren’t I supposed to carry you to bed?”

“You were supposed to carry me through the door, actually,” Padmé laughed. “But I guess the bed will do, too.”

He smiled and carefully boosted her into his arms, delighting in the warmth of flesh against flesh, the way she wrapped her arms around his neck and nestled against his shoulder. Even after they’d sat on the bed she remained cradled in his arms, apparently unwilling to move.

“Well?” he said.

“Well what?” She grinned up at him.

“Are we going to …?”

“So impatient.” Padmé drifted her hand up to his cheek, caressing lightly. “Maybe I’m comfortable here.”

Obi-Wan shifted, exaggerating only a little for effect. “Suppose I’m not?”

“Oh, aren’t you?” She pretended to look puzzled. “I wonder why that could be.”

He bent to whisper directly into her ear. “Can’t you feel what you do to me?” As he spoke he moved her slightly, and she smiled widely again.

“Mmm, and what should we do about that?” Padmé leaned up to kiss him, and before long they were both laughing against each other’s lips.

She then pushed him gently down, coming to rest on top of him. His length was pressed firmly between them, still hard, still ready. Obi-Wan’s breath came more quickly now, and his hands were suddenly everywhere — trailing along her back, brushing her breasts in front, tangling in her hair. His kisses were full of need, a moan escaping him as her fingers in turn stroked the hollow of his throat.

“I can’t believe we’re actually supposed to do this now,” he murmured huskily.

“We were before, you know,” Padmé pointed out with a chuckle.

“I mean it’s officially sanctioned.” He gasped a little as she ground against him. “You’re my wife now. My wife.”

“It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it?” She pillowed her head against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.

“I used to dream about this.” His voice rumbled through her. “About you, about doing this with you. I don’t know how many sheets I ruined like that.”

Padmé laughed. “I thought that only happened to teenage boys.”

“Not always. I ruined pants, too.”

“Pants?”

“Pants.” Obi-Wan trailed a finger delicately along the underside of her left breast. “The last pair I ruined was when you wrote me the letter after the first assassination attempt.”

She made a sound somewhere between a moan and a giggle. “And just how exactly did you ruin them?”

He grasped her wrist gently and drifted it down his chest, to his abdomen and then lower. She shifted to allow them access to a particularly significant area, and he placed her hand directly over his erection. She pressed down lightly, and his breath hitched.

“This,” he whispered, guiding her fingers to wrap around himself. His eyes slid closed and she could almost feel his skin heating under her gaze.

“Oh.” She drifted her hand up the shaft and back down to the base, dropping her own voice to a whisper. “And did you imagine that I was the one doing it?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan hissed. “You — I imagined you were in the speeder — wanting this — just as you’re doing — and I thought of your letter — what you’d said —”

“And I picked up speed, just like this,” Padmé interrupted. She resumed her circuit, tracing two full circles around the base, down to his sac and back up to trace the vein on the underside of the shaft. She then ran her index finger languidly over the slit in his cock’s tip, producing a full-body shudder. “You like that? Did I do that?”

“Not — that.” He clutched at her back, her hand, all but rutting against her. “Please — please — again —”

Padmé repeated the action, keeping her touch as light as possible, and before long she could feel the liquid precursor to his climax on her fingers. She wasn’t sure how far he wanted to take this, what exactly he wanted to do, but she was certainly willing to continue for as long as he let her.

She sped up, making a fist around him and palming up and down. He ground furiously against her, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, sweat beginning to bead his brow.

“It’s all right, darling,” she whispered, bringing her other hand up to stroke his cheek. “Whatever you want. Don’t hold back.”

Several times he opened his mouth as if to speak, but more waves of pleasure rolled in to reduce him to silence. “I —” he finally choked out, “I — don’t know if — can’t hold — on —”

“What do you want?” Padmé slowed her motions. “Tell me what you want.”

Obi-Wan was panting heavily. “So — close —”

“Do you want to come inside?” She winked at the double meaning.

“I don’t know if — if — can’t hold on —” But he was nodding vigorously.

“Okay.” She let him fall from her grasp and moved slowly over him, trying not to force skin to skin contact any more than was necessary. But as she began to slide down, lifting to impale herself upon him, he suddenly grunted and grunted again, and his climax crashed over them both in sticky spurts. She quickly moved to hold him as he shuddered, murmuring soft words of love.

“Sorry,” he whispered as it ended.

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad that it happened for you.”

“Too soon,” Obi-Wan muttered, sounding disgusted. “Just — lost control.”

“Well, something like this can hardly be all about maintaining control, can it?”

“But the wedding night is supposed to be about us.” He wouldn’t look at her. “Not just me. I can’t lose control when I need to and I do when I don’t need to. It’s not …”

“Fair?” Padmé supplied.

This at least brought a small smile to his lips. “No. It isn’t.”

“I guess not.” She reached for a cloth on the bedside table and began to clean him slowly. “But it doesn’t matter, all right? We’re going to work through this, just like we’ve worked through everything else. Besides,” Padmé winked, “the night isn’t over yet.”

Another smile. “It isn’t, is it?”

Padmé crawled up beside her husband and embraced him from behind, planting a series of kisses on his neck. He shivered pleasantly, leaning into her touch, a contented sigh escaping his lips. He knew that perhaps he ought to be more annoyed at himself for what had just happened, but somehow he couldn’t now conjure the appropriate emotion while lying in the circle of her arms, his skin pressed against hers. This might be where he felt safest, here with her, and he could barely believe that they were now married, inextricably bound to each other for eternity. A bond-capable Jedi, married. Who would have thought?

Padmé leaned her cheek against him, sighing softly. “I love you,” he whispered fervently.

“I know,” she returned, a distinct smile in her tone.

Obi-Wan turned suddenly, needing to see her, touch her, face her. His fingers twined in her hair as he pulled her close for a desperate kiss, full of passion and longing and need. Her hands were not idle either, moving from his shoulder to trace his collarbone and encircle each nipple. As they broke the kiss he was breathing heavily, already halfway to arousal again.

“Do you want to try?” Padmé asked.

He nodded, too lost in her to say much more. She smiled reassuringly and drew him close again, this time parting her lips to allow his tongue entrance. They mingled for several moments, tasting each other, their bodies pressing together. Suddenly, once more, hands were everywhere, brushing over chest hair, tickling stiff nipples, palming and cupping breasts, trailing down to navels and the paths that led lower. Padmé moaned softly as his fingers found the small bundle of nerves above her entrance, a sound that was electrifying to him. She arched against him repeatedly, sliding down on his hand as he slipped first one and then two fingers inside her. Padmé’s breath came in small gasps, pants even, and he sped up his motions, leaning up to pluck at her breasts with his other hand. It was not long at all before she clenched around his fingers in an unmistakable climax. A shiver rippled down his spine as Padmé moaned his name, obscenely.

“You didn’t have to —” she whispered presently.

“Thought I’d return the favour,” he replied huskily. Bracing himself on his arms he crawled up behind her, clutching her to him. From this position she would easily be able to feel his hard cock against the small of her back. “And it isn’t as though I don’t get anything from it, either.”

“Mmm.” She laughed and pressed herself against him, earning a groan. “I’d say that’s a little more than returning the favour.”

“And a little less than what I need,” he pointed out.

“Oh?” Padmé turned her head slightly. “And I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to … give you what you need.” She grinned suggestively.

Obi-Wan nuzzled her shoulder and trailed kisses up her neck. “There might be.” She wriggled against him again and his breath hitched sharply. “There just … might be.”

He flipped her gently over until she was looking up at the ceiling, then positioned himself over her. She arched against him and his eyes drifted closed as their bodies ground together. He could sense his control quickly slipping again and raised himself a little. “This time … this time I want to be inside you,” he said in answer to her questioning gaze.

Padmé took hold of his shoulders and spread her legs, slowly drawing him down. Both released long sighs as his cock slipped inside her, and once more he needed to pause to keep from arriving right there. The sensations were overwhelming, much more so than they had been at any other point in the evening.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, and moaned as he plunged out and back in. Some small part of her was amazed, overwhelmed, at the fact that they were doing this for the first time as husband and wife, but the rest was simply deluged in sensation, in desire, in the incredible blue of his eyes.

He thrust deeply, slowly, apparently wanting to draw the experience out as long as possible. She knew it wouldn’t last, though — already the heat was pooling in the pit of her stomach, the tiny prickles spreading out to her arms and legs, and she was so close, so close, and he hopefully was too — oh please, let this work —

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan moaned, his pace picking up. “Are you — are you —”

“Yes …” She urged him on, clutching his shoulders. “Don’t worry about me, just — just — let go —”

At this moment Padmé herself did exactly this, as the waves of her second climax broke over her. She scratched lightly along the skin of his back with her nails, drawing a loud grunt of pleasure from him. As she came down from her plateau, Padmé watched him closely, waiting, hoping, almost praying that that the encounter would work out, that it would be fulfilling for both of them. At first nothing seemed to happen, and he continued to drive deeper and deeper inside her. But within moments his eyes closed, his mouth opened, and with a gasp of her name, he collapsed onto her chest as the sensations overwhelmed him.

She held him as he trembled, as she felt herself filling with warm liquid. They stayed that way for several minutes, their breathing beginning to slow, their eyes alternately drifting open and closed. Neither spoke.

“Finally,” Obi-Wan sighed, several moments after that.

Padmé smiled, stroking his cheek. “Well, it’s our wedding night. This is supposed to be special.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” he muttered. “That it wouldn’t be.”

“Darling, I know how important that is to you, but all that matters to me is that we’re together, and we’re able to enjoy each other’s presence. If you can’t follow it through, that’s not your fault and I won’t blame you for it. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

“I suppose not.” He seemed quite content to stay where he was. “But you’re my wife now. Like I said before, aren’t we legally supposed to do this?”

Padmé laughed. “Technically, yes. You’ve been doing your reading. Marriages were first arranged on Naboo so that women could produce children, but that was a long time ago. Before space travel, when each woman was permitted up to five husbands. The planet’s leaders wanted to ensure genetic diversity.”

“I can’t imagine.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “I’ve got enough difficulty adjusting to one.”

“I know. But it was very effective.” She sighed for a long moment, kissing the top of his head, and both listened to each other’s breathing.

After awhile Obi-Wan pulled out and lay next to her, floating the covers to rest over top of them. “What about us?” he asked tentatively.

She turned her head half towards him, a questioning look on her face. “What do you mean?”

“Well … what Master Yoda said, before we came here. That we should have more children eventually. Expand our family.”

“Yes, I remember,” Padmé nodded. She bit her lip in consideration. “I had thought we’d wait a little, until Luke and Leia are a bit older. But I know that’s not the only factor at work, I know we’ll have to leave here at some point, and then there’s the Order, of course. My wants, my needs, are secondary.”

“Not necessarily,” he replied. “Ultimately the choice does rest with you, as you’ll be carrying the baby and giving birth. But it might not be such a terrible idea to begin thinking about it.”

Again she nodded. “I’m not averse to the idea. In fact, I wouldn’t mind a big family, but I think it will depend on a lot of things. Our lives, what we’re doing, where we’re living. And, of course, the activities of the Empire.”

Obi-Wan sighed softly, but she could tell he understood. “A third child could provide a good cover,” he murmured.

“Cover?” Padmé asked.

“If the Empire ever decides to extend its search for me in earnest, hiding within a family could be the perfect way to put them off the trail,” he explained. “They’ll be looking for a single Jedi, and they believe you to be dead. Even if they were to find out the truth somehow, they would expect us to be traveling with two children, not three. I have a feeling the bureaucracy is not advanced enough to communicate effectively within itself, particularly on the backwater planets.”

“Like Tatooine,” she said quietly.

He slid his gaze over to her; she was looking contemplatively at the ceiling. “Yes. Like Tatooine.”

“Owen and Beru,” Padmé murmured.

“Who?”

“Anakin’s family,” she answered. “They have a moisture farm near Mos Eisley. Shmi married Cliegg Lars after Anakin left, and I’m sure his son Owen is managing the farm by now. If we needed help, or somewhere to stay …”

He swallowed. “I wouldn’t want to impose. And — well — wouldn’t the Emperor know? You went there when Anakin’s mother died, didn’t you?”

“Vader knows about this place too,” Padmé pointed out. “He could come and search it if he wanted to, but I have a feeling that he’s either trying to stay away from connections to his former life, or Palpatine is keeping him away. Probably the latter. He’d be terrified of awakening anything of Ani within Vader.”

Obi-Wan snorted bitterly. “I’m not sure Anakin exists anymore. In fact I doubt it.”

“I know,” she said. Under the blankets, her hand found his. “But I also know what I sensed as he was choking me. There’s still good in him. I could have reached it if I’d had a little more time.”

Briefly he remembered what he himself had felt, after the immolation, when Anakin had seemed to be himself again just for a moment, a single moment. But that moment had been shattered by Vader’s declaration of hate, and was now cloaked in so much pain that Obi-Wan could not stand to revisit it, to analyze it objectively as Padmé apparently had. She could hold any opinion she wanted, but she had not struck Vader down so brutally, so physically. She had not cut off his legs and his arm and watched him writhe and scream. She had not watched him burn alive, had not heard the venom in his last statement to his former Master.

I hate you …

“I’m sorry,” Padmé whispered. She leaned over, smoothing his hair off his forehead.

He realized his grip on her hand had grown viselike, and cursed himself for letting his thoughts venture in that dangerous direction. Still dangerous, even after nearly a year.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up before bed,” she was continuing. “I know we’ve talked about this before, so there’s no point in discussing it again.”

He edged closer to her, breathing deeply and allowing the emotions to pass through him and out. Her scent filled the void, comfortingly, and he pressed a kiss to her neck.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said, and meant it.

“Good.” She kissed and nuzzled him, draping an arm about him so that he could nestle in the circle of her embrace. “I’m still sorry, though.”

“Don’t be. Tatooine is a good idea.” He concentrated on relaxing, getting ready for sleep.

“I’m sure Owen and Beru wouldn’t mind the extra help, either,” Padmé mused.

“Darling, I’m a Jedi, not a moisture farmer,” he reminded her.

She laughed. “Not you, silly. The twins. The twins could help out around the farm, learn the value of hard work. It would be a good experience for them. In the morning they could train with you, and in the afternoon we could take them to the farm to work.”

“They’ll probably hate you for suggesting that, when they’re old enough to understand,” Obi-Wan warned with a smile.

“Maybe, but it’s a lesson they’ll need to learn. Besides, children are supposed to hate their parents sometimes. It’s a sacred tradition.”

“Mmm.” His eyes drifted shut, then opened again as her fingers began to stroke along his jawline, tracing his beard up to the shell of his ear and back down again. The gentle intimacy felt wonderful, and was lulling him to sleep.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I know.”

They slept.

***

In years to come, both Padmé and Obi-Wan would remember the days after the wedding as being bittersweet. They spent most of their time with each other and with the twins, sometimes bringing the babies into bed and tickling them, cuddling them, playing with them and watching them sleep. Luke and Leia adored this, shrieking and giggling happily at each new experience. Obi-Wan played an ongoing game with Luke whereby he would place a rattle or a stuffed animal just beyond the baby’s reach, and encourage him to bring it to hand by using the Force. Luke proved surprisingly adept at this once he understood what was expected, although he tended to get frustrated if the object was even a little too far away. His father therefore taught him in tiny increments, until he was able to move objects a quarter of the way across the bed. And Luke wouldn’t cooperate at all if he was hungry, tired or wanted to be held, so Obi-Wan was very careful about scheduling these informal lessons so that his son didn’t get upset and learn to resent the teachings.

Leia’s lessons progressed similarly, though she grew impatient with them more often than did her brother. Padmé was concerned about this until Obi-Wan assured her that this was likely just a function of their daughter’s strong personality, and that it would improve with time, training and discipline.

But, hanging over these luminous moments was the ever-present knowledge that Padmé’s family was soon to depart for Theed. They had stayed as long as they believed would be possible without arousing suspicion, and that time was quickly drawing to a close. They set a date for a week after the wedding, and everyone except for the twins — who didn’t understand that their grandparents and aunt had to leave — hoped fervently that this date would not come.

But come it did. Everyone needed to be up early to pack and eat the morning meal, after which they would say their goodbyes and the Naberrie family would file into one of the bedrooms to have their memories of Varykino erased by Obi-Wan. The latter would then disguise himself as the resort’s caretaker and return them to Theed in their speeder boat.

Breakfast that morning was sad and silent, no one quite knowing what they should say to each other. A thousand things went though Padmé’s mind: declarations of love and devotion; pleas to stay; pleas to go; expressions of hope that they might see each other again sometime, somewhere, somehow; overwhelming hatred of the Empire, that it was ripping her family apart and depriving Luke and Leia and any future children of the chance to know their grandparents. Mixed in with all this was a terrible loneliness, a sense that after they left, Padmé would have no one. This was patently ridiculous, of course, since the twins were staying and there would be Obi-Wan too. But outside her immediate family, no one could remain at Varykino. Even Nandi and Teckla were leaving to take on jobs as personal cooks to the Naberries and to Sola and Darred.

Then, suddenly, the moment had come. Padmé, Jobal and Sola all began to cry as soon as the suitcases were brought down and set near the door, and even Luke and Leia whimpered, sensing something amiss. Goodbyes were muted but desperate, and Obi-Wan felt sick watching them. His bond whispered incessantly that this was wrong, that separations should not be forced in this manner, but the more logical part of him knew that there was no choice. So he stood stolidly by the bedroom door, gazing upon the scene and trying resolutely to ignore the bond’s prickles.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Jobal murmured as she hugged Padmé. “I’m so glad we got these few months together. They’ve made me feel truly alive.”

“Mom, don’t say things like that,” Padmé whispered. “I can’t — this is hard enough already.”

“I know, I know.” Jobal cupped her daughter’s chin in her hands. “And we will see each other again. If our hearts will it, then it will be so.”

They hugged once more. Padmé then turned to Sola, who slid two items into her younger sister’s hands.

“What …?”

“My datapad, for one,” Sola said. “Don’t even think of refusing. I’ll get another in Theed. But this will keep you connected to the outside galaxy, and if you monitor the HoloNet feeds, it will keep you safe.”

“And this?” Padmé held up a flat projection plate with a small depression in its front.

“My wedding gift to you both,” explained Sola. “All your wedding pictures are loaded on there. I took them with my datapad’s holoimager. That little slot is a thumbprint identifier. After you’ve programmed it, if it doesn’t recognize the thumbprint of the person trying to open it, or if someone opens it by force, it will self-destruct.”

Padmé had no idea what to say to that, so she simply darted forward and embraced her sister, tight.

The goodbye Padmé shared with Ruwee was perhaps the most difficult both for them and for observers. They had rarely, if ever, seen him become emotional — the only time anyone could think of was when the Naberries had first come to Varykino — but now he just held his youngest daughter, held her as if he could never let her go, and when Obi-Wan came forward and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, Ruwee clung even more tightly. It took Jobal’s saying, “Dear, we really must be going,” and several more minutes before he would finally release her. When he did, the assemblage could see that both his and Padmé’s faces were streaked with tears.

Obi-Wan embraced his wife for a long moment, while Jobal did the same for her husband. Then, with final waves and expressions of love, the Naberries followed the Jedi into the bedroom and shut the door.

Padmé heaved a gusty sigh and took the twins upstairs one by one to the nursery. This too was part of the plan: none of the Naberries or cooks could catch sight of her or the babies after the memory modification, lest the procedure have to be repeated. And Obi-Wan had told her that this would be extremely difficult to do immediately owing to the large amount of mental and physical energy the Jedi needed to expend on the exercise. As he would barely be capable of standing and taking them to Theed afterwards, and would need to rest for several days following that, a second memory modification was out of the question.

She played with the twins for several hours, trying to keep both them and herself busy. Just as she was putting them down for an early-evening nap, she heard a door open downstairs, followed by the opening and closing of the front door.

With tears again wetting her cheeks, Padmé watched as a small procession made its way across the veranda to the boats below. Obi-Wan walked slowly behind them, entirely cloaked except for his eyes. The little group descended into one of the boats, and swiftly began to sail away.

***

The sky had grown completely dark by the time Padmé heard the gentle thunk of a vessel docking at the balcony. She stepped outside and hurried down the stairs, knowing that in his exhaustion her husband would need her to help him into the resort. He had asked her to be there when he returned.

Sure enough, Obi-Wan sat tiredly in the speeder boat, rubbing his eyes and making feeble attempts to stand. She bent down, kissing his cheek through the material of his cloak.

“Did everything go all right? I was getting worried!”

“No, it’s fine,” he said blearily. “They got back safely. Just thought I’d — try to pick up a little extra information in town …” This statement was punctuated by a huge yawn that nearly caused the covering material to slip off.

“Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have, you’re exhausted!” she exclaimed. “Here, let’s get you inside.”

She took his hand and helped him to stand on the quay, then draped his left arm over her shoulder and supported him towards the stairs, bearing as much of his weight as she comfortably could.

“The twins …?” Obi-Wan mumbled.

“They’re inside, playing in the nursery,” Padmé replied. “I was just about to put them to bed.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m leaving you alone …”

“We’ll be fine,” she assured him. “All you need to do is concentrate on resting and getting your strength back.”

“Mmm.” He stumbled slightly and she moved to steady him, standing still for a moment until both had regained their equilibrium. Then they proceeded up the stairs and through the door.

“One more flight, darling,” Padmé whispered. “Just one more. We’re almost there.”

“Right.” Obi-Wan was leaning into her now, his head resting on her shoulder, eyes only half open and his other arm hanging limply at his side. They stumbled upstairs and down the hallway, passing the nursery on the way. Padmé peered briefly into the room; the twins were sitting happily in the centre of a large mess of toys and seemed occupied for the moment.

As soon as the couple gained their bedroom, Obi-Wan collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to remove any of his clothes. When Padmé pointed this out, he shot her an exhausted half-smile.

“I thought you could take them off.”

She put her hands on her hips, pretending to glare. “Is this all an act, Obi-Wan? An act to get me in there with you?”

“If I wanted that, I wouldn’t act,” he replied, and both dissolved into laughter for a moment.

“All right,” Padmé conceded with a last chuckle.

His eyes slid gratefully shut as she climbed onto the bed and gently began to peel the layers from his body, first the cloak and then the outer tunics, lifted over his head. She undid his boots and set them on the floor next to the bed before her eyes came to rest on the remaining articles of clothing.

Before she could say anything, before she could even ask the question, a wail sounded from down the hallway. Padmé slid automatically off the bed, but Obi-Wan grabbed her wrist weakly.

“Why don’t you let your mother …”

Their eyes met, and full reality sunk in at that moment. They were alone now, truly alone, except for each other. Any problems they had, any decisions to be made would now be handled or taken without the support the support of the larger Naberrie family. They had grown so accustomed over the last months to having help, even though they had of course continued to handle much of the twins’ care themselves, that to be without assistance seemed utterly foreign.

“Not now,” Padmé sighed, and hurried from the room before the child’s cry could become a scream.

Nothing was seriously wrong — a minor tussle over a stuffed bantha both babies wanted had resulted in a tug-of-war — but Luke and Leia were rubbing their eyes tiredly, and Padmé decided they should be put to bed before they became overstimulated. But Luke was slow to settle, and she walked around the room with him for an hour before concluding that method would be ineffective. So she took him back to the bedroom she shared with Obi-Wan, only to find that her husband had already fallen fast asleep. Reaching the end of her patience, exhausted herself, Padmé draped the covers over him and undressed for bed while Luke crawled happily around the room. She then climbed into bed and put the baby to her breast, hoping that the extra feeding might calm and content him.

It worked, and Luke soon fell asleep, but she now didn’t feel like moving him back to his own room. In the darkness, her son cuddled in her arms and Obi-Wan snoring next to her, Padmé suddenly felt very alone. Her parents were gone, her sister had left, and even the cooks were no longer working at Varykino. How could they cope? How would they get along? Before the Naberries had shown up at the resort, they had nearly reached the breaking point, constantly at each other’s throats, always finding some little problem to argue about. What if that happened again? It was true that back then they’d had a lot more to deal with, as it was just after Mustafar, but there was nothing to say they wouldn’t revert to that if given the chance.

She shuddered at the thought. But maybe that won’t happen this time. Maybe we’re past all that. Obi-Wan is more stable and we’re both more used to taking care of the babies. It has to be easier. It has to be.

But alone in the dark, her family against an entire galaxy of woes … this seemed very difficult to believe.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Warnings

Three years.

He had been this way for three years.

Three years of suffering, three years of imprisonment, three years of pain, three years of enslavement. If he could have better analyzed himself and his situation, if he could look at it objectively, he might have known it as such, but he was most often so steeped in anger that he did not bother.

Anger became a Sith Lord so very well, after all.

And there was so much to be angry about. His physical imperfections, for a start. The black suit and helmet could not be removed except inside a specially-outfitted and equipped hyperbaric chamber. All day and all night his own breath hissed in his ear, constant, never ceasing, unrelenting. He could not stop it or even quiet it or slow its rhythm. He could no longer eat and he rarely slept a full night anymore. But perhaps worst of all, the Force, that comforting and familiar energy field which a part of him could never truly leave, was now largely inaccessible. Of course, this was an exaggeration; he could still reach it if he concentrated and in his weaker moments, he actually used it to get around. But he was unused to needing to concentrate, unused to working to establish the connection, and the inability only served to fuel his anger.

Anger at the Jedi. Anger at Padmé for her betrayal, and for dying. But most of all, anger at Kenobi.

Vader seldom allowed himself to think of Anakin Skywalker. That was the name of his former self, the being who had been both stronger and weaker. Stronger by virtue of physicality, but greatly weakened by his refusal to tap the great well of power that was the Dark Side of the Force. Anakin had been naïve too, naïve and innocent and far too trusting. In short, Anakin was everything Vader had sworn to himself he would no longer be. And letting go of that former life meant banishing all aspects of it, which included all the people with whom Anakin had once associated.

So when Vader contemplated his onetime Master, it was with an attitude of hatred, of revenge. Sometimes revenge against Kenobi was all he could think about. It obsessed him. He knew Kenobi was not dead, for he would have been informed of this were it true. He had ordered all the Imperial officers under his control that if they were to find Kenobi, they must not harm him. That was to be left to Vader, and only to Vader, on pain of death.

In the meantime, he hoped Kenobi was suffering. Oh, how he hoped Kenobi was suffering.

Not physically, of course. Vader had no reason to suspect that Kenobi had been in any way injured at Mustafar. No, he hoped the source of Kenobi’s anguish was mental, and he hoped that it was horrible. That it never let up. That it was as severe as his own physical pain, if not worse.

Kenobi had many things over which to feel anguish, after all. First and foremost was Padmé’s death. Vader very nearly smiled when he thought of what Kenobi must be going through. The loss of his best friend, his life partner, the mother of his children. Never again would Kenobi touch her, kiss her, see her smile or hear her voice. Never would they raise the babies together as Vader knew they both had dreamed — for he understood that Padmé’s unborn children had died with her. That gave him no small amount of satisfaction, knowing he had wiped out the Kenobi line at a single stroke.

Then there was the “death” of Anakin, which would surely be hitting Kenobi hard as well. Vader didn’t like to consider this, mainly because it brought up unpleasant memories for him too, but he knew that when Anakin had still existed, Kenobi had thought of him as a brother. Anakin believed the same. Through all the service, missions and calamities they had endured together, the two had become extremely close, and they trusted one another implicitly. This was why, hopefully, Vader’s betrayal would have stung all the more, not to mention the sorts of actions Kenobi had eventually taken to defeat Vader on Mustafar.

And, just to add another wrinkle of interest, there were those bizarre depressions into which Kenobi seemed to sink whenever he was faced with loss of any kind. He had been the consummate Jedi in all matters but one: the ability to release attachment. Oh, Kenobi could talk like he was able, but when it came down to doing it, something prevented him from following through. Vader had no idea what this might be; he knew only that it was very real and ever-present. And it hadn’t originated with Padmé’s first rejection — no, this had begun earlier, with the death of Kenobi’s Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, and perhaps even before that for all he knew. Whatever this intangible might be, Vader hoped it was making Kenobi suffer.

But now, with the three-year anniversary of Empire Day approaching, Vader unfortunately had little time to think on old grudges. Palpatine had taken great pleasure in telling him that he must journey to Naboo on a diplomatic mission, which would serve the dual purpose of quelling several small pockets of resistance that had sprung up on the planet. Vader was not looking forward to reacquainting himself with a place that held so many memories, but bitter experience had taught him that he must not protest. The Emperor’s punishments were severe.

Punishments or not, though, Vader had assigned himself another mission while on Naboo, a mission his Master was to know nothing about. Palpatine had prevented him from attending Padmé’s funeral, citing the growing list of tasks needing to be completed in order to serve the new Empire, but Vader knew the Emperor was much more concerned about his servant reconnecting with an aspect of his former life than he was with any bureaucratic procedures.

However, Palpatine couldn’t watch him all the time.

The funeral was long since over, of course, but the crypt where Padmé’s body lay was open to the general public so that they could come and pay quiet respects to their heroine whenever they wished. Vader planned to visit that crypt. He had no idea why precisely he was so fixated on doing so. Partially it was to gloat, to revel in all he had taken away from Kenobi. But he also believed that the Force was leading him there, for some reason known only to the mystical energy field. He would be foolish to deny its call.

And so he participated in Palpatine’s silly rituals, in the great deal of planning that seemed to go into diplomatic visits. Vader did not dare lose his patience, however, for he knew the wrath he would face if he allowed that to happen.

The visit was set for Empire Day. Everything was being prepared. Everything would be perfect.

And he would finally have some answers.

Someone was shaking her shoulder, violently, firmly. She rolled over, trying to evade the touch, but it merely continued, and now she could hear a voice whispering as well, frantically whispering her name.

“Mmm?” Padmé mumbled. “I’m sleeping …”

“Padmé!” It was almost a yell now.

She jerked awake. “Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, what is it? What’s wrong?”

He was white-faced, sweating, shaky. “He — he — it’s him —”

“Who?” Padmé turned and brushed the hair back from his face, caressing his cheek, trying to calm him. “Darling, it’s all right. You’ve had a bad dream, it wasn’t real.”

Obi-Wan grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. “Not a dream. Not a dream, a warning.”

She felt as though a bucket of ice had cascaded into her stomach. “A warning?”

“He’s coming. Here.”

“Vader?”

Obi-Wan nodded fervently.

“But you’ve been getting warnings about a possible visit ever since we came to Varykino,” Padmé pointed out reasonably. “There was just never a specific date. So why start worrying now?”

“Because now we do have a date.”

She froze. “Really?”

“Yes.” He had started to shake in earnest now. “This Empire Day. He’s making a diplomatic visit here and he wants to take out a small resistance in the capital. And — and —”

Instinctively Padmé pulled him into a tight embrace. “What?”

The response was a whisper against her shoulder. “He’s going to visit the crypt. Your crypt.”

“Okay. Okay.” She massaged soothing circles against his back. “Is he going to come all the way to the Lake Country?”

“I don’t know.” The trembling hadn’t ceased.

“All right. Shhh, just relax.” Padmé pressed a kiss to his neck.

“Relax?” Obi-Wan let out a hysterical laugh.

“Darling, there’s nothing we can do about it tonight. Empire Day is still three months away. That’s more than enough time to make a plan and then leave. Your bond is warning us and we’re going to heed that warning. But we can’t be afraid. I know this is frightening, but we’re going to get through it. It’s going to be okay.”

He was still breathing heavily, but gradually her words and her touch began to calm him. He leaned into her, controlling himself, releasing the panic he felt into the Force.

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered at length. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me, I shouldn’t even have woken you up …”

“Don’t apologize.” She pulled back a little to look at him. “It must have been very frightening.”

“I just don’t want anything to happen to us,” he explained. “The last three years have been some of the happiest of my life. If the Force wills that I let it go, that’s one thing, but this …”

“This is Vader’s doing,” Padmé completed.

He looked away. “Yes, exactly.”

She was about to say more, but suddenly a small voice echoed down the hallway. “Mommy?”

“Luke,” Padmé smiled.

“It’s my fault.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “I probably woke him up. Accursed bond.”

“Well, it’s warning us that Vader will be coming here, so it can’t be all bad.” Padmé rose from the bed and pulled on a light robe. “I’ll be right back.”

She hurried from the room to the nursery. Luke was sitting up in bed, tears lightly streaking his cheeks. He sniffled as his mother pulled him into a comforting embrace.

“What is it, sweetheart?” she asked gently.

“Daddy okay?” asked the toddler, drawing a chubby hand across his eyes.

Again Padmé marveled at the strength of the bond and Luke’s ability to feel it, young as he was. “Yes, Daddy’s fine,” she replied. “He just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

“Is he scared?”

She pressed a kiss to the top of her son’s head. “He was a little scared. But everyone gets scared by bad dreams sometimes. Even daddies.”

Luke shivered, and Padmé bit her lip, afraid she might have frightened him even more. She was never sure how much he knew or was able to feel because of the bond, which made it difficult to know how much to comfort him. It was easier for Obi-Wan than for her, because he could sense their son’s emotions and shared a deeper connection with him via the bond. But this time Luke had asked specifically for her, so she didn’t feel it would be right to call her husband in to help. He was wrestling with his own demons, after all.

“It was the bad man,” Luke said suddenly. Almost … knowledgeably.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Padmé had to work hard to control her own spike of fear.

“Is he coming here?” The boy tilted his head to look up at her.

“Who is the bad man?” Padmé persisted. “Did you dream about him?”

Luke furrowed his brow in apparent concentration. “No. Daddy did.”

She swallowed. Could her son mean Vader? How much had he seen? How much did he know, or understand? How much should she tell him? And, through all of that, she could barely believe she was sitting in her children’s bedroom about to discuss the Dark Side with a three-year-old. For goddesses’ sake, what was the galaxy coming to?

“Luke, I don’t want you to worry about that, okay?” She cuddled him closer and he snuggled into her body. “That’s something for grown-ups to think about. Your dad and I will always protect you and your sister. The bad man isn’t going to hurt you. We’ll make sure of that.”

Luke nodded, though he still looked slightly perturbed, and after a few more hugs and cuddles he lay back down. Padmé checked quickly on Leia, who was still sleeping peacefully, and then turned to go.

“Mommy?”

She paused. “What is it, Luke?”

“The bad man scares Daddy,” the boy said with quiet certainty.

She knew she couldn’t deny this, couldn’t lie to him. “Yes. Sometimes he does.”

***

Obi-Wan was sitting up when she returned, his eyes shut and his breathing soft in what she was sure must be a meditative pose. She slipped into bed beside him and carefully pulled the covers over herself, not wanting to disturb him.

But he opened his eyes anyway. “How’s Luke?”

Padmé bit her lip. “He’s fine. He knew you’d had a nightmare, though.”

Obi-Wan massaged his temples tiredly. “I wish he didn’t have to deal with that. With any of it.”

“So do I,” she replied carefully. “But it doesn’t seem to bother him. He asks questions and we answer them. It’s something more for him to be naturally curious about.”

“He’s a little boy!” Obi-Wan burst out. “He shouldn’t have to think about the things he thinks about. He shouldn’t feel it whenever his father has a nightmare. His future shouldn’t be tainted by a destiny.”

She winced, remembering her own similar line of thought earlier. “I know what you mean, darling. I wish that wasn’t our reality.”

“Who decided Force bonds should be hereditary anyway?” he grumbled. “What a terrible idea. Not only bearing that burden yourself but knowing you’ve passed it on, that your child will go through the same things you did. Possibly worse things.”

“Well, there must be some reason for it,” Padmé said equitably. “Historically speaking, every step along the ladder of evolution has served some purpose, even if it’s not one we can immediately identify. I would imagine Force bonds are similar.”

Obi-Wan snorted indelicately. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see it. Not for a Jedi, in any case. Not when non-attachment is one of the foundations on which we are based. Not when emotional connections can be so easily manipulated by our opponents. And bonds are … well, they are far more than emotional connections. They’re far deeper. No one’s even tested how deep they run or what their limits might be because the Order was always afraid of their effects. And rightfully so, in my opinion.”

“Maybe they were wrong,” she ventured. “And maybe they had begun to recognize that. They allowed our relationship, after all. And Master Yoda specifically wanted us to live together and raise the twins.”

“Not at first. I had to argue for it, remember? And even now I’m half-convinced that the only reason he allowed it was because he understood how difficult the period after Mustafar would be for me. He must have been petrified that I’d allow my emotions to override rational thought, that I’d do something crazy and foolish. I might have, if it hadn’t been for you.” He softened slightly.

“Then it could be argued that the answer lies in the question,” Padmé pointed out. “He let me stay with you because he’d seen the calming effect I have on you before. But I think there’s some other purpose at work here, something involving Luke. There’s a reason for everything, even if that reason isn’t immediately evident. Luke’s inheriting the bond must serve something. Perhaps it has to do with what he’ll accomplish in the future.”

“And perhaps the Force is simply trying to level the playing field,” Obi-Wan said bitterly. “The existence of that bond will make it far easier for Palpatine to manipulate him, to play on his emotions. To use his family connections against him.”

“The bad man,” Padmé murmured, thinking.

He turned to look at her. “What?”

“Oh, just something Luke said when I was in there with him,” she replied. “He understood what you were dreaming about, or parts of it, at least. It’s hard to tell. He knew there was a bad man in your dream, and that man was hurting you somehow.”

“Vader,” Obi-Wan muttered, his head dropping into his hands. “A boy. A little, three-year-old —” He inhaled suddenly, shakily, and she moved quickly to wrap him in an embrace.

“We have to believe,” Padmé whispered. “We just have to believe there’s some other reason for it. That’s all.”

She could feel him trembling against her. “My son, Padmé,” he murmured brokenly, displaying a level of emotion to which she had not borne witness for nearly four years. “My son. He’s so young, he’s supposed to be innocent … I’m supposed to protect him.”

“I know. And you are protecting Luke,” she assured him.

“I’m not. I can’t.”

Padmé kissed the top of his head, unsure what more she could say, knowing once again that additional ruminations about the bond’s purpose would do no good now. He needed comfort, just as he had needed it directly after Anakin’s death. Some scars would grow lighter, but never fade.

He jerked slightly, as though a small current had gone through him. And then, almost before she knew it, he was on his knees, facing her, leaning over her, his lips pressed to hers in a passionate kiss. She barely had time to grab his shoulders and prevent him from toppling.

“Obi-Wan —”

“No.” From this proximity she could taste the salt from the tears on his cheeks. “Please, darling. Please.”

Padmé knew what he meant — don’t ask questions, don’t push me anymore, just go with this. She sighed and returned the kiss, stroking between his shoulder blades.

“I need this,” he whispered desperately. “Please, please —” He was on top of her now, his legs straddling hers, holding her in a firm embrace as he continued to kiss her almost fiercely. “Please — make me forget —”

Padmé pulled him closer, nuzzling him a little, a small smile on her face. “I know, darling. I know. It’s all right.”

“I can’t — I’m sorry —” Obi-Wan slid the straps of her nightdress off her shoulders, kissing down her collarbone, nuzzling the space between her breasts. He was hard as durasteel against her legs, and she edged his sleep pants down, freeing his length.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “Just go ahead. Go ahead. Take me.”

It was messy, fumbling, fast, confused, not at all like their usual couplings, but she knew he spoke the truth when he said he needed it. Sometimes only one form of distraction would work. And she didn’t mind occasionally being that distraction.

Obi-Wan rutted frantically against her, his eyes wild with arousal, and for a moment she thought he might arrive right there, so warm was his flesh and ragged his breathing. But at the last moment he seemed to recover a modicum of control, and his touch became the gentle caress she was more used to. He fingered her until she was wet and ready for him, gasping and fisting the blankets in her fingers.

He fumbled to push his sleep pants further down his thighs and then grasped his erect flesh in one hand, eyes sliding closed as he stroked himself for a moment, lost in sensation. But Padmé could wait no longer now that he had worked her into a frenzy.

“Darling, please …” she whispered.

His blue eyes blazed again and he took a deep, steadying breath, once again crawling over her. Inch by inch he pushed inside, making them both gasp. Padmé arched against him, drawing him deeper, desperate for the pleasure to reach its zenith. And abruptly he began to move, accelerating his pace immediately to match the bucking of her hips. Their lovemaking was rapid and rough and hurried, and both were thoroughly enjoying it.

Padmé crashed into her climax first, digging her nails into his shoulders and kissing him furiously as the heat spread through her, as she cried out his name. His beard on her face served only to heighten her pleasure.

Something like relief rippled through his eyes as he saw her arrive, and he clutched her to him as he began to plunge out and back in again. Their skin was slick with sweat and it sounded wet as they slapped against each other. She could feel his sac sliding against her with each thrust, and a soft sigh slipped from her lips as a second orgasm shattered her, mixed with awe at her own stamina.

But Obi-Wan could wait no longer and with a groan he finally let go, pillowing his head against her chest as he shot warmth inside her. She stroked his hair as both panted, trying to get their breath and their senses back. He finished presently, relaxing against her, all the tension abruptly leaving him.

“Is that better?” she asked after awhile.

Obi-Wan raised a shaking hand, brushing her cheek with his fingers. “I — I’m sorry, I — I don’t know why I acted like that …”

“Darling, it’s okay.” Padmé grasped his hand and kissed each finger, sucking it lightly before releasing it. “I understand. I do.”

“After three years I should be able to keep control of myself,” he muttered. “And I’ve lived with this bond for much longer. I don’t know why I can’t cope all of a sudden.”

“It’s an ongoing process,” she reminded him. “And it’s never easy to think that your child may suffer, especially if it’s due to something you’ve given them. But it’s not your fault, Obi-Wan. There was no way you could have known that if you had children, they might have the bond too.”

“But I should have known,” he said bitterly. “How else would bonds have been passed through generations? Why would Jedi keep turning up at the Temple with that ability? Rarely, yes, but still. I should have realized it was a possibility, and I should have told you.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered to me,” Padmé said. “I know you probably think I’m lying, but I’m not. I still believe the bond must serve some sort of purpose. Otherwise, why would it exist?”

“I can’t,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “I can’t see it. I just … can’t.” He shuddered.

“All right.” She knew not to push him at the moment, so she simply stroked his hair, brushing it out of his eyes and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“Thank you.” He rolled over onto his side and pulled her close against him, embracing her from behind. She traced up and down his arm and down each finger, softly, sweetly, slowly. She could hear his breath becoming slow and regular as he slipped into sleep.

And, as she had so often done in the past three years, Padmé Amidala Kenobi prayed to her goddesses that they could somehow, in some way, grant her husband peace.

***

“My Lord?”

The officer’s voice was reedy, unsure, questioning. Vader could feel the fear rolling off the man in waves, fear that the Sith Lord could gladly feed on. Feed on and become stronger for it. Really, it was pathetic that these weak-minded individuals did not realize they were playing right into his hand.

“Yes, Captain Ozzel?” he rumbled.

“There is — there is a communication for you, my Lord,” the captain replied, practically trembling. “High-priority, from Imperial Center.”

Imperial Center. That could only mean Palpatine. It seemed that the Emperor had been keeping increasingly close tabs on his apprentice over the last two months, ever since they had begun planning the trip to Naboo. With the fourth Empire Day just a month away, it was possible Sidious simply wanted to check on some aspect of the planning process, but Vader doubted it.

Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do to keep his Master waiting. He nodded at Ozzel. “Send it through to my personal comlink.”

“Right away, my Lord.”

Vader didn’t bother staying around to catch the rest of the official’s sniveling. He simply turned on his heel and strode off the bridge of the Star Destroyer, spoiling the effect slightly by stumbling over one of his boots. He cursed himself. How was it that after nearly four years, he still couldn’t completely control this wretched body without the aid of the Force? The black suit that kept him alive seemed to be exceedingly poorly designed, with many areas that chafed and rubbed at his already tender skin and inefficient connections between his artificial limbs and what remained of his biological self. Every step he took caused him pain, as the sharp edges of the limbs ground into the stumps of his arms and legs. He could barely even lift a foot anyway due to the weight of his boots and the slipping of the prosthetics as pressure was removed from them. And this didn’t begin to take into account the fact that he could no longer properly hear, drink, see, breathe, use a refresher, lift his arms. Every day, a team of medical droids came to bathe him and remove the scar tissue and dead skin that continually sloughed off from the burns. His blood was checked for infections and the suit itself was cleaned at the same time. No drugs for pain relief were ever provided to him during these treatments, or at any other time.

If Vader had been able to step outside himself and see his situation from another perspective, he might have concluded that the suit and the treatments and his limitations were actually the perfect means to continue to keep him enslaved to Sidious’ bidding. Both fear and pain fed the Dark Side of the Force, and since Vader had lost over half of his Force potential to the fires of Mustafar, he needed an alternate means of connecting to the energy field. Forged in pain at the Emperor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Center, Vader was deathly afraid of going through the daily treatments and even of moment-to-moment ambulation by virtue of the fact that both of these caused him intense discomfort. The pain inevitably happened, creating more fear, and he became correspondingly stronger through his use of these emotions.

He shook himself, trying to clear the unpleasant thoughts, and went down uncomfortably on one knee to await his Master’s message. Sidious flickered into being, his eyes fixed speculatively on his apprentice.

“Lord Vader. How are the preparations proceeding?”

“As planned, my Master,” Vader answered. “We have received approval from the palace to conduct a tour of Theed and to complete several … intelligence operations.” He did not add that Queen Apailana had also acquiesced to his request to visit Padmé’s crypt. Palpatine did not need to know this.

“Excellent,” said Sidious. “Be mindful, my young apprentice. The Force is changed, uncertain, unstable. Surely you must have felt it these past months.”

“I have, Master.”

“Proceed with the plan only as I have outlined it to you, do you understand? There must be no deviations,” Sidious warned. “You are heading into a volatile situation. Do not make matters worse for yourself with disobedience. Is that quite clear?”

“It is, my Lord.” Vader hoped his mental shields were holding.

“Good.” A satisfied smile curled Palpatine’s lips.

“Master, if — if I were to come into some intelligence, important intelligence regarding the location of rebel Jedi, would this not be worth deviating from our original plan?” Vader asked cautiously. Better to plant the seeds now, in case he should need a justification later.

“Oh?” Palpatine arched an eyebrow. “And have you such intelligence, Lord Vader? You see, it would only be worth investigating if the Jedi happened to be extremely important and high-ranking. Someone like … Master Kenobi, perhaps.”

Vader decided to take the risk; he was in deeply enough as it was. “I am currently following a lead relating directly to his whereabouts, my Master. I have reason to believe he is in hiding on Naboo.”

“The precise location, do you have it?”

“No, my operatives are still conducting their investigation. But they believe that an important place to start may be the burial crypt. They have discovered certain … irregularities.”

“Such as?” Palpatine’s lip curled slightly.

Vader was glad his face was hidden behind a mask, as he wasn’t sure he would have been able to conceal his emotions. “The necklace that was buried with Senator Amidala has been discovered to be a very elaborate forgery,” he explained. “The carvings on the pendant do not match its … original design. Therefore suspicions have been raised about whether the body in the crypt actually matches that of the deceased Senator. We will soon discover the truth of all this.”

“So, in short you are saying that you think Senator Amidala lives?” Palpatine’s face showed clear disbelief.

“I am saying that there is evidence to indicate a deception may have taken place,” Vader replied. “Therefore, with your permission I would like to conduct a thorough search of the crypt, and perhaps of other locations with pertinent records. I have no doubt that if this is in fact true, Amidala may hold our best chance of finding Kenobi.”

“Indeed. Continue with your investigation, but be mindful. Take no additional action without first consulting myself. Is that quite clear?”

Vader bristled but could otherwise do nothing, handcuffed as he was by Sidious’ orders. “Yes, my Master. As you wish.”

Shortly thereafter he flicked off the comlink, annoyance swelling within him. How dare Sidious treat him like a petulant child, incapable of making important decisions without the consent of a superior? Like he was some insolent Padawan? After he had just thrown off the yoke of the Jedi Council, had he simply traded one form of dictatorial supervision for another?

It certainly seemed this way.

However, he had little time to dwell on his relationship with Sidious. There was important work to be done, and Vader needed to begin without delay.

Revenge must be enacted.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

A Change of Plans

“Daddy, can we have flatcakes for breakfast?”

Obi-Wan looked up from his datapad in the midst of checking the morning’s news releases, regarding his daughter fondly. “I don’t know, little one. What does your mother say?”

Leia shrugged. “Dunno. She won’t come out of the fresher.”

“Really?” Now that was strange. More bizarre still was that Padmé had not risen with him when he got up to meditate, but had instead continued to sleep soundly. He hadn’t thought much of this, but it was utterly unusual for her not to be puttering around the kitchen by now, preparing the morning meal for the twins and him. And this had been happening more and more of late …

He chewed his lower lip as he stood. “Is she upstairs?”

“Yeah,” answered the three-year-old. “Daddy, can we have flatcakes? Luke an’ I haven’t had ’em in five hundred years!”

“That right?” Obi-Wan bent and embraced her briefly, depositing a kiss on the top of her head. “I must say, you look remarkable for your age.”

Leia giggled. “Just like Yoda?”

He scooped her up, smiling as her small arms wound around his neck. “Yes, just like Yoda. Are you a distant relative of his, perhaps?”

“Does he like flatcakes?” she asked, tilting her head in consideration.

Obi-Wan chuckled as he started up the stairs. “Now that is a question I have never asked him. You’ll have to find out someday.”

“When?” Leia wanted to know.

“I’m not sure, actually. Maybe when you’re a little older.”

“Tomorrow?”

Obi-Wan laughed. “No, not tomorrow. Whenever you’re ready for another Master.”

“I don’t want another Master,” decided Leia. “Masters are supposed to be daddies.”

He cuddled her closer as they reached the top of the staircase, thinking of the irony implicit in that statement. In the Old Order such involvement would never have been tolerated, and the Jedi in question wouldn’t have been permitted the sort of relations leading to the conception of a child. How things had changed, that he could now train his daughter and yet still be her father! This never ceased to amaze him, even though he’d been living in that very situation for a few years.

His ruminations were rudely interrupted halfway down the hall as a wave of nausea washed suddenly over him. He swallowed hard and leaned momentarily against the wall, closing his eyes, seeking relief in the Force.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Leia exclaimed in alarm.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” Obi-Wan replied; the unpleasant sensation was already passing. “But I have a feeling Mom isn’t. Here, why don’t you go wake up your brother, and I’ll see what's going on.“

She bit her lip as he lowered her to the floor. “Is Mommy sick?”

“I don’t know.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. But I need to go check, all right?”

“’Kay.” She trotted off towards the nursery, and Obi-Wan headed for his bedroom.

The fresher door was closed but not code-locked; he knocked anyway. “Darling? Is everything all right?”

There was a long pause, then: “Fine,” Padmé called from inside.

“Are you sure? I could sense that you were ill from all the way down the hallway.”

She didn’t reply, and he was suddenly visited by two simultaneous and unpleasant thoughts. Firstly, that this was what it must have been like for her after the Mustafar visions, standing on the other side of the fresher door, unable to stem the suffering within. How frustrating! And secondly …

Obi-Wan blinked, blinked again and swallowed. “Padmé, I’m coming in.” He reached to palm the door, but before he could, it slid open of its own accord and she faced him, pale and angry.

“Damn Jedi. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to keep your senses to yourself?” Padmé demanded.

“I didn’t mean to —”

He’d barely begun to speak when she whirled around, scrambled for the toilet and didn’t even have time to kneel before losing the meager contents of her stomach. Obi-Wan did not hesitate either; he crossed the room in a single stride and carefully lowered her to the floor, brushing her hair gently back from her face. She was crying, the tears on her cheeks mingling with sweat.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey, it’s all right. You’ll be fine.”

“No,” she gasped, trying to get her breath back. “No, it’s not, I’m not, I just — I feel awful. I feel …”

“Pregnant?” Obi-Wan supplied.

Padmé jerked her head around to look at him. “Excuse me?”

“Darling, when was your last monthly?” He shifted, allowing her to recline in his lap. “Do you remember?”

“I …” She reached up shakily, brushing a hand across her eyes. “I don’t — well — two or three months, I guess, but — you don’t really think …”

“What I think is irrelevant,” Obi-Wan replied. “But it may be time we consider the possibility.”

“You know?”

“Of course I know,” he said quietly. “You’ve tried to hide it, and with any ordinary being that might have worked. But not with a Jedi. You’re ill in the mornings again, aren’t you? You’ve been avoiding certain foods, you haven’t woken as early and you fall asleep as soon as you go to bed at night. And this latest problem was likely provoked by Leia’s mentioning she’d like flatcakes for breakfast, am I right?”

Padmé turned a light shade of green, but did not otherwise relent. “All of which could be explained away by a virus, or indigestion.”

“Except that no one else is sick,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Where would we have picked up such an illness, anyway? We rarely leave the resort. And …” For the first time he hesitated.

“What?” she demanded.

He sank briefly into the Force, probing, feeling, confirming. “Your Force signature is different.”

“So?” Padmé snapped.

“The only other times it varied were when you were expecting the twins … and your first pregnancy,” Obi-Wan said. He regretted bringing this up, but it seemed necessary at the moment.

She was silent for a long while, during which time he simply held her, occasionally running a hand through her hair or pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. The only sounds were their breathing, and occasionally her light sniffles. Finally Padmé turned to look up at him, directly into his eyes. “Can you feel her?” she asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“The baby,” she said quietly. “You said you could feel the twins sometimes, when I was pregnant before.”

“Oh.” Once again Obi-Wan sank into the Force, feeling its current flow around and through him, an endless river into which he could pour himself. He saw his wife, her light, her strength, felt the warmth of her love and trust. Accepted all of that and probed more deeply, teasing apart her unique presence. And yes — there — just there — only a flicker, the tiniest eddy in the current, barely identifiable but still there. Life, within Padmé. Infinitesimally small, but the Living Force shone almost as brightly as it had for the twins.

“Yes,” he replied at length. “She, or he, is there. The embryo is very young — probably not more than two months, but most certainly present.”

She lapsed into silence for a second time, then leaned over the toilet to retch again. “Sorry,” Padmé whispered when she’d finished.

“What are you apologizing for?” Obi-Wan asked. “If it’s the fact that you’re sick, darling, I don’t care. I let you see me when I was ill after that vision.”

“With some prodding,” she reminded him.

“Well, yes. But I did.”

“I’m not sorry about that.” Padmé still hadn’t raised her voice. “It’s just that … our plans, we were supposed to leave on the transport for Tatooine a week before Empire Day, and now … I can’t have the baby there. You know that. There’s almost no medical care on that planet, and the sanitary conditions … it’s a terrible place to give birth. Anakin told me a lot of awful stories. What are we going to do?” She was beginning to cry again.

“Shhh.” He pressed his cheek to hers, hoping his touch would calm her. “We’ll figure something out. Perhaps we’ll go somewhere else for awhile, until the baby’s born. Tatooine isn’t the only other planet in the galaxy. And we have friends elsewhere. Don’t forget that.”

“But we’d be putting them at risk!” she cried. “I couldn’t do that, I just couldn’t!”

“Do you know what Bail told me before we parted ways?” Obi-Wan asked. “He said that anytime we needed help, with anything, we should call on him. He told me that Mon Mothma had extended the very same offer. He meant this to be for any matter, even if it might put his life in danger. We’re only as strong as the bonds we cultivate, darling. You’ve taught me that much. And if we can’t rely on our friends when we’re in difficulty, when can we?”

“I suppose you’re right.” She turned sideways, burying her face in his chest. “I just — I’m sorry, I —”

He could sense her breaking down again.

“Shhh,” Obi-Wan whispered once more. “It’s all right. Whatever’s wrong, we’ll fix it. Remember what you told me?”

Padmé shook her head miserably. “We can’t. This is my fault, I should have known better … getting pregnant now … I knew we’d have to leave here soon, so I shouldn’t have …”

“Oh, darling …” He was shaking his head too, before she’d even finished speaking. “No, this is not your fault. Not at all. If anything, it’s mine.”

She turned to look at him. “Yours?”

He sighed. “Think about it. The last time was that night when the bond first warned me about Vader. I started it, I lost control, because I just wanted to forget. If I’d kept my head none of this would have happened.”

“But I let you!” Padmé exclaimed. “I wanted it too! You can’t just take all the responsibility onto your shoulders, we both —” She stopped short, realizing what she’d said. “Oh, that’s very clever. Very funny, Obi-Wan. How did you get me to switch sides so quickly?”

“Well, they didn’t call me the Negotiator for nothing,” Obi-Wan pointed out with a sly smile.

She rolled her eyes. “No fair using your overdeveloped sense of guilt as a weapon,” Padmé pouted.

“But it worked,” he chuckled.

Padmé thought of retaliating, but nausea rose within her again and she quickly shut her eyes, leaning against him once more. Unexpectedly, tears sprang to her eyes, and she shuddered. At least Obi-Wan was here, here as he had not been during her previous two pregnancies. She drew immeasurable comfort from his presence, the steady beat of his heart and his arms around her. Despite all their current difficulties, she had a deep and abiding sense that this was how things should be: husband and wife finding out and coping together, rather than the wife informing her husband once he returned home from war.

She was jolted out of her thoughts by a soft knock at the door. Padmé didn’t yet feel she could open her eyes, however, so she was grateful when Obi-Wan called, “What is it, Luke?”

“Mommy?” asked their son’s tiny voice.

“She’s fine,” Obi-Wan replied. “Just a little sick, that’s all.”

“Leia an’ I want flatcakes,” Luke informed his father.

Padmé winced and buried her face further in her husband’s tunics, taking refuge in his scent.

“How about I make them for you?” said Obi-Wan.

There was a long silence. “Do you even know how?” Luke’s voice was hushed.

His father laughed. “Yes, I do. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.” Small feet padded away.

“We should tell them,” Padmé said at length.

“About the baby?” Obi-Wan sounded unsure. “This early?”

“Darling, I’ll have at least another month of this. They’re not going to accept that I’m ‘just sick’ for that long.” Her stomach lurched at the thought of four more weeks of illness, but she knew she spoke the truth. “Besides, we’re going to need to change our plans. We’ve already told Luke and Leia we’re going to Tatooine. They’ll wonder what’s happening when we suddenly land somewhere else.”

“I suppose,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “But I think we should get those arrangements in place before we say anything. Just so that we don’t frighten them with indecision.”

“All right.” Padmé closed her eyes again, but it didn’t help, and she was soon leaning over the toilet once more.

Obi-Wan massaged her back lightly, murmuring soft words of comfort. When the latest bout of sickness was over, he kissed the top of her head and whispered, “I’m going to go down and get them breakfast now. Can you get along on your own for a few minutes?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes. I think so.”

The door swished shut behind him and she slumped back against the bathtub, trying to catch her breath.

Pregnant. She was pregnant again. And even though she and Obi-Wan had talked many times of having more children, now that it had actually happened she felt shocked. Well, shocked and slightly ashamed — having been pregnant twice before, should she not have recognized the symptoms earlier? The illnesses in the morning, the absence of her monthlies, the exhaustion, all should have been obvious signals to her that she had conceived. That and the encounter with her husband after his nightmare, which clearly had had the potential for far-reaching consequences.

In the back of her mind were excitement and happiness, of course. They were going to have a baby again! Another child, with his or her own personality and desires and appearance. A sibling for Luke and Leia. Another Jedi to help rebuild the Order. (She didn’t want to think this way, but could not help it.) A youngling for Obi-Wan and Yoda to teach. Another child with whom Obi-Wan could bond. Would the new baby inherit her husband’s bond? From what he had told her, bonds were exceedingly rare, but Luke was capable. Could it happen twice in the same family?

Another, more worrisome thought occurred to her, and kept coming back no matter what efforts she made to push it out. Would she carry the child to term? Her pregnancy with the twins had gone smoothly, but the first time she’d conceived, the gestation had barely lasted three months. Suppose she miscarried again? She couldn’t go through that, not twice. And Obi-Wan … what would another loss do to him? He was as stable now as he had been before Mustafar, before the war, but she got the sense sometimes that his grasp on control was tenuous. He had the occasional nightmare, and he still grieved for Anakin — well, they both did. The beginner’s training he was doing with the twins had allowed him to re-immerse himself in Jedi teachings, but she knew he missed the companionship of his fellow Knights and Masters dearly. He missed the Temple, with its soothing Force currents, and yet he avoided talking about his last experience in that building as much as possible. Padmé knew he had seen the bodies of young children, slain by Vader, when he had gone with Yoda to deactivate the homing beacon. But aside from the time in her apartment, Obi-Wan had not spoken of those moments again. She knew he would carry the scars for the rest of his life.

So how could she bear to add to them? She had to keep the baby. She had to.

But what could they do, where could they go, how could she get proper medical care? Certainly that wouldn’t happen at Varykino, and it couldn’t happen on Tatooine. In this sense at least it was probably a blessing that she had conceived now, as opposed to when they had arrived on the desert planet and established themselves. Perhaps the Force had willed it to be so. But where else could they go?

As another wave of nausea overwhelmed her, Padmé realized there were only two real possibilities: Alderaan and Chandrila. Both Bail and Mon had offered the Kenobis shelter the last time they had seen them, and Obi-Wan claimed they had done this without regard for their own lives or reputations. Could she and Obi-Wan really depend on them like that, compromise them, put them in danger?

On the other hand, what choice did they have?

She rested her sweaty cheek against the cool tile floor, wishing Obi-Wan could return and hold her again. She ached for him, for his soothing voice reassuring her as before that everything was going to be okay. But he was downstairs with Luke and Leia, as well he should be, and she knew that to venture into the kitchen would simply aggravate the sickness further.

Tears trickled down her cheeks once more, and this time Padmé Kenobi made no effort to stem the tide.

***

He had carried the comlink for nearly four years. It was old-fashioned, battered, unremarkable. And this was precisely what would make it useful in an emergency, and impenetrable in case of search or seizure.

In the first number of weeks he was alert almost constantly, sure that at any moment he would feel the vibrations in his pocket. He practiced the routine to follow in this case endlessly until he could probably have done it in his sleep. When no message came, he gradually relaxed, but nevertheless did not let down his guard. All he could expect about the potential contact was that it would be, well, unexpected.

And it did not disappoint.

His wife was the one to let him know. Bail had returned from the latest trip to Coruscant — oh, he supposed it was now to be called Imperial Center — exhausted, sick to death of the charade and ready to give it all up. If it wasn’t for the fact that democracy needed all the allies it could get, he would have.

Bail was sleeping soundly when he felt someone shaking his shoulder hard. He rolled over and grumbled, keeping his eyes firmly shut.

“Your comlink’s going off, love,” Breha whispered urgently. “Wake up!”

“Tell —” He yawned hugely and had to begin again. “Tell whoever it is that I’m sleeping, damn it, and they can go jump in the Rhilla Lake for all I care.”

“It’s not the one you think,” Breha said. “It’s the other one. The one you won’t tell me about.”

That was all it took to jerk him awake. Bail gasped and sat bolt upright. “Dear, where is it? Do you have it?”

His wife was already prepared with the small device in her hand, finger on the activation button. “Here.” She quickly handed it to him and drew on her dressing gown. Within seconds she was out the door, understanding without needing to ask that he required privacy.

Bail vaulted off his bed and hurried to his closet, tugging open the door and bending down to key two successive codes into a small drawer at the bottom. This slid open to reveal an intricate machine. At first glance it would have looked like a simple comlink charger, but it was in actuality a decoder designed to accept input from one and only one comlink — the one he clutched in his hand.

Hurriedly he plugged it into the connector and waited while it downloaded the message. This was done in a matter of moments, and a single sheet of flimsiplast came speeding out of a slit in the machine’s base. Re-closing the door, Bail took a seat at his desk and grabbed a pen to decode the message. When he finished, it read:

It’s me. We need help. Original plans won’t work due to medical issues. We must have a safe location with excellent care. Please advise.

Bail chewed his lower lip, thinking. Medical issues? What sort of medical issues? Perhaps he’d better ask.

Bail disengaged his comlink from the machine and tapped out a message in response.

I’d say A or C is likely your best bet. What kind of medical troubles are you facing?

The answer came almost immediately.

E is pregnant. And there are complications.

Bail blinked. Padmé was going to have another baby? Well, this was a surprise. Not an unwelcome one, but a surprise nonetheless. He thought for a few moments before composing his message.

My sincere congratulations to you both, though I’m sorry things are not proceeding smoothly. Let me make contact with K and see what she is able to offer. Going there would probably be safest, especially if the situation is not a normal one. May I contact you again tomorrow evening?

Yes, came the answer. Please hurry.

Bail gathered up the scattered sheets of flimsiplast on his desk and tore them into tiny pieces. He then set fire to those pieces and washed the ashes down the fresher sink. His mind churning with plans, he hurriedly dressed and made ready to leave.

“Where in the galaxy are you going?” asked a startled Breha as her husband raced into the sitting room.

“Off-planet.” Bail scooped up some datapads stacked on an end table.

She chewed her lower lip. “So soon? You just got back, you’ve barely had a night’s rest!”

Bail set down his bundles and embraced his wife. “Love, I’m sorry. This shouldn’t take too long, but it is important. Some friends of ours need help, and I’m honour-bound to assist them.”

“Friends?” Breha blinked. Then she exclaimed, “Padmé and Obi-Wan! Oh, are they all right?”

Bail hesitated, wondering how much he ought to reveal to her, but decided she deserved to know. They were her friends too, after all. “Padmé is pregnant again, and according to Obi-Wan, there are significant complications. He seemed quite frightened. They were originally going to head for Tatooine in advance of Empire Day, but she will need medical care that isn’t available on such backwater planets. I’ve suggested that Chandrila may be their best option, but I need to consult with Mon Mothma.”

She kissed him softly, sweetly, slowly, and it was only duty and a sense of abject urgency that kept him from staying. “Go,” said Breha vehemently. “Go. Just make sure you’re safe, and they’re safe.”

“I will,” he replied. “I promise.”

***

Pale. She was so pale.

Her skin seemed almost translucent, and she was so weak that he wouldn’t have been surprised if a breeze had blown her away. She had deteriorated so quickly — or perhaps he had just been that oblivious to her struggles before. He figured that was the case, and cursed himself for it. Burdened by constant nausea and vomiting, Padmé had probably lost weight rather than gaining it. His heart ached to look at her.

But this was so much worse.

He held her as she shook with sobs, fear rolling off her in waves and battering him relentlessly. Guilt pierced him, guilt and worry and a thousand other emotions. He released them into the Force, because he could not bear to frighten her further.

“Darling, shhh,” Obi-Wan said soothingly, massaging his wife’s back. “It’s only a bit of blood. It might not mean anything.”

She trembled against him. “This is how it started before. I — I was bleeding, and then I started cramping … I can’t … not again …”

“I know.” He stroked her hair. “But you’ve got to relax. Getting scared and upset will only cause you further stress.” Stress you can’t afford, he did not add.

“Obi-Wan, I can’t lose her!” Padmé cried. “I can’t go through that again, I just can’t …” Fresh tears trickled down her gaunt cheeks.

Obi-Wan sighed. The constant illness was bad enough — and, he suspected, not in any way normal — but when she awoke that morning to find blood spots on her nightgown, Padmé had entirely surrendered her composure. They’d both been concerned that she might not be getting enough nutrition to sustain the pregnancy, but there was also little they could do without medical help. Obi-Wan felt certain that doctors following her would have taken action long before now, and performed procedures at which the couple could only guess. They were handcuffed by their isolation, and by their fixation on the date they would leave for Chandrila. No doctors could be called; no medical droids could be summoned. They were completely, irrevocably on their own.

He reached for a glass of water on the bedside table. It had been placed there many hours earlier, but she hadn’t touched a drop. “Here, you should have a little of this. Keep hydrated.”

“I can’t,” she moaned, turning away from the proffered drink. “My stomach …”

“Just try a little bit,” Obi-Wan coaxed. “Just a very little bit.”

Her hand was shaking too much to hold the glass, so he pressed it gently to her lips and tilted it slightly, allowing a small amount of water to trickle into her mouth. At length she swallowed, and immediately closed her eyes, pressing her face into the front of his tunic. “No more … I can’t take it …”

“All right.” With another more reluctant sigh, Obi-Wan replaced the water on the table and cuddled her closer, leaning against the bed’s headboard.

“The twins …” Padmé murmured.

“They’re worried,” he admitted. “I gave them breakfast this morning and they’re in the nursery playing. But they want to know what’s going on. I’ve told them you’re sick but I think they know it’s not an ordinary illness.”

“We should tell them,” she whispered.

“They know about Chandrila, darling.”

“Yes, but …” She paused, taking more deep breaths. “They don’t know why. We have to tell them the reason. It’s not fair to keep it from them.”

He bit his lip. “Are you sure you’re well enough?”

Unexpectedly she looked up at him and glared, a little of her old self showing through. “They’re our children, Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, of course,” Obi-Wan hurriedly backpedaled. “I just thought —”

“They have to know,” Padmé repeated firmly.

“They do.” He nodded. “Shall I get them?”

She closed her eyes once more. “Just wait — a minute —”

He kissed and nuzzled the top of her head, murmuring soft words of reassurance. But she began to cough, and scrabbled for the fresh towel next to them on the bed. Obi-Wan called it to hand with a quick nudge of the Force and pressed the cloth to her mouth just in time for her to vomit the meager amount of water she had just finished drinking.

Obi-Wan fought down another burst of panic and guilt, rocking her gently.

“This is a bad day,” Padmé murmured. She was right; usually she could keep down water, crackers and sometimes half of a meal, but the last two days had been like this one.

“Yes, I know.” He released more fear with another breath.

“Go find the twins,” she whispered at length. “I’m all right for now.”

He eased her back onto the pillow, tucking the covers around her waist. She held out her hand, and he squeezed it. “I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Padmé nodded. She had closed her eyes again.

Obi-Wan didn’t have to look far to spot his son; Luke was crouched outside the room, his eyes wide and one of his hands clutching a stuffed bantha he had loved since he was a baby. The other was in his mouth as he sucked vigorously at his thumb. His emotions were sad and turbulent, a much deeper worry evident through the bond. Obi-Wan crouched and lifted the child, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

“Is Mommy gonna die?” Luke asked in a tiny voice, his tone belying the fright he felt.

“No, sweetheart, she’s not going to die.” Obi-Wan shoved that worry right out of his mind. “But your mother and I do have something to tell you and Leia.”

“We’re not going to Chandra?” Being unable to quite pronounce the name of the planet properly, both twins had begun referring to Chandrila as Chandra.

“Yes, we are,” Obi-Wan said. “Mom and I just want to tell you why, though. We think you and your sister deserve to know.”

“Okay,” Luke replied softly.

“I’m going to go get Leia. You can go in and see Mom if you like.”

He set his son down and Luke immediately scampered into the room. He was sitting quietly on the bed next to Padmé when Obi-Wan returned with Leia.

“Why are you so sick, Mommy?” the latter asked instantly.

Padmé nodded at her husband; he sat carefully down on the bed next to the twins.

“Your mother is expecting a baby,” Obi-Wan began. “And that means that sometimes she feels very ill. It’s something that happens when a woman is pregnant.”

“A baby?” Leia’s eyes were wide as saucers. She crawled over to her mother and examined her closely. “Where is the baby, Mommy?”

Padmé chuckled. “You can’t see her right now, darling. Or him. The baby is growing in my tummy. She’ll stay there until she’s big enough to be born.”

“Why is she making you sick?” Luke wanted to know. “Doesn’t she like you?”

“Of course she does,” Padmé said. “And after she’s born she’ll become as attached to me as you both are. But some of the things my body does to keep her alive make me feel ill. The same thing happened when I was pregnant with you.”

The twins eyed each other wonderingly, amazed that they could have a similar effect on their mother.

“But this time the sickness is a bit worse,” Obi-Wan put in. “Your mother and I are worried that she might not be getting enough to eat, because she can’t keep the food in her stomach long enough. And we want her to be able to give birth in a place where she can be examined by doctors. Tatooine is not that place, but we have friends on Chandrila who can help us. That’s why we’re going there.”

The children were silent for a long while, contemplating all this. Finally Leia asked, “When do we get to see the baby?”

“In about six months,” Padmé told her. “It will be a little while yet.”

“And is she going to be a girl?” Luke said. “There’s too many girls around here already.”

“Hey!” Leia exclaimed indignantly.

“Well, it’s true! Us guys —”

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” Obi-Wan interjected; he could see Padmé wincing again. “Luke, we don’t know yet whether the baby is a boy or a girl. We’ll find out when he, or she, is born.”

“Aww, no fair!” Luke complained.

“Remember what I’ve told you about patience, son.” His father winked.

“Yeah, yeah. A Jedi is always patient,” the boy sighed.

“Right,” said Obi-Wan.

“So, we’re going to be leaving for Chandrila in two days,” Padmé took up the story. “Dad will help you pack up some of your favourite toys to take, and then we can —” She paused suddenly and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Luke rested his hand on her shoulder, concerned, but she smiled and soon continued. “We can work on shaping this place up a little. We won’t have room for everything that you enjoy, but we will be taking at least a few things. I’d like you to help your father clean up the resort, make it look like no one’s been living here since —” Padmé paused again, and this time her hand went to her abdomen and she gasped a little.

“Right, that’s it,” Obi-Wan decided. “You need to rest. Luke, Leia, come on. Let’s go.”

Padmé’s eyes were filling with tears again. “Obi-Wan …?” she whispered, and she sounded … broken.

He was at her side in a second, clasping her hand, conscious of the twins hovering nervously in the doorway. “What is it, darling?”

She was crying in earnest now, not even trying to hide it. “A cramp.”

Obi-Wan felt his stomach turn to ice.

“A cramp,” Padmé repeated in a choked whisper. “It’s starting … I can’t … not again …”

Please, Mon, hurry.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

The Threat

Fly under the radar.

Well, thought Mon Mothma, I’m not sure how much more under the radar I could get. This place is the middle of sodding nowhere.

“We’re almost there, Mom,” said Lily from the navigation seat. “I’ve got the coordinates locked in.”

She turned to face her ten-year-old daughter, shooting Lily a grateful smile. “Thanks, dearest. Our instructions are to just set down in the middle of that field, and then hike to the resort house.”

“Should we bring the med droids?” Lily asked.

Mon considered. “As much as I’d like to, it would be a bit too cumbersome. I know Master Kenobi said the situation was dire, but we’ve also got to get them off this rock. I’d say that’s pretty dire too. You can alert the doctor though and ask her if she’d like to come.”

Lily nodded once, and Mon re-focused her attention on the pilot’s console to prepare for landing. She had come to take her daughter’s level of maturity and good sense almost for granted, but there was no denying that the girl was growing up, and growing up fast. It seemed only yesterday that she’d refused to eat green food rations and had been frightened by the idea of a Separatist attack on her home planet, and now she was almost a teenager, keen to assist her mother as much as she could in whatever endeavours Mon undertook. She’d make a fine warrior someday. And perhaps, a fine rebel.

“We’re going to take small arms, just in case,” Mon instructed. “Remember what I taught you, and keep behind me. Don’t fire unless you are directly under threat, is that understood?”

“Of course,” Lily replied. “Do you think we’ll encounter any resistance?”

“Doubtful, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

They met Dr. Ti-Lek at the bottom of the boarding ramp and, after exchanging several pleasantries, proceeded across the field, following the directions they had been given. It was a short hike and the weather was pleasant, so they gained Varykino without any difficulty.

“Senator!”

She jerked her head up and aimed her gun; the cry had come from an upper balcony and she couldn’t immediately tell who had spoken.

“Mon, don’t shoot!”

“It’s Master Kenobi!” Lily exclaimed, tugging at her mother’s sleeve.

Mon could see that now, but if the girl hadn’t pointed him out she didn’t think she’d have recognized the Jedi. He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes, hair pointing in all directions and rumpled clothing. Far from the polished, official image she was used to seeing from Master Kenobi.

They climbed the steps to the veranda and were met at the door by the Jedi, a young boy clinging to one of his legs. The corners of Master Kenobi’s lips were twitching and he seemed to be trying to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Master,” Mon greeted him. “I hear you’re in need of a lift?”

“I’m sorry, Senator, I don’t have time for pleasantries,” the Jedi said brusquely. “You’ve brought Healers, medical professionals?”

“Yes, of course,” Mon replied as she stepped inside, gesturing to Dr. Ti-Lek. “This is Dr. Ti-Lek. She’s a doctor who also specializes in treating pregnant women. She was my physician when I was expecting Lily. And the ship has a fully-equipped medical bay.”

“Good, good.” They were hurrying up the stairs by this point. “Lily — oh, your daughter, right, I remember Padmé talking about her. Here — Luke, can you go find your sister, finish the packing?”

“No!” cried the little boy, who had not detached himself from Master Kenobi’s leg. “I wanna stay with you!”

“Son, I don’t have time to argue —”

“I can take him,” Lily cut in, stepping up so that she was level with the child. “Hi there. Your name is Luke?”

He shuddered a bit, but nodded.

“You have a sister too?” Lily said. “I’ve always wanted a sister. But I’m an only child.”

“Sisters are dumb,” Luke mumbled, but he didn’t look entirely convinced of this statement.

“Can I meet your sister? Then maybe I could decide for myself.”

Luke looked uncertainly towards his father, and the latter nodded and stroked his son’s hair. “It’s all right, little one. I’ll just be in the next room.”

They’d reached the top of the stairs by then. Lily took Luke’s hand and they headed for the nursery, while the rest of the group continued to the largest bedroom.

“What seems to be the difficulty?” asked Dr. Ti-Lek as they walked.

Master Kenobi’s features immediately tightened. “We — well, we believe she may be miscarrying,” he replied, and Mon could see plainly the effort he was expending to keep himself under control. “This pregnancy hasn’t been an easy one. She’s been very ill, more than should be normal, we think. The last three days she’s barely kept water down, let alone food. And yesterday she started bleeding and cramping. She has miscarried before, and so we thought …”

Mon peered past the doorway to the bedroom, shocked once again by what she saw. If the Jedi looked awful, Padmé seemed near death. Pale, thin, weak and exhausted, she lay on her side in bed, two pillows under her head and another clutched to her stomach. Mon could not believe the changes in her friend, and she bit her lip.

“Do you know if she has passed anything?” Dr. Ti-Lek asked. “Clots, tissue …?”

Kenobi swallowed visibly. “I — have no idea,” he said faintly. “We’ve just assumed …”

“Understood.” The doctor strode into the room, leaving Mon and Padmé’s husband to hover by the door.

The Jedi scrubbed an exhausted hand over his face, at the same time stifling what appeared to be a huge yawn. “I — erm — look, Senator, I want to thank you for what you’ve done, for coming to get us. You must have placed yourself and your daughter at a terrible risk, given who I am, and … I’m grateful. We’re grateful. More grateful than I can possibly express.”

“Please, call me Mon,” she said gently, touching his arm in a gesture of support and friendship. “This has to be so difficult for you both. Alone, with only yourselves to depend on … I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“Then you can call me Obi-Wan,” he replied. “And it’s been mostly all right, up until now. But I … I made a stupid, cowardly mistake, and she is paying the consequence. We both are, I suppose, but it’s so much more difficult for her. All she’s been saying since we found out is that she can’t go through losing another child. Having this baby has become the focus of her life. And it’s gone so wrong …” He stopped for a minute and closed his eyes, breath coming shakily.

“I’m so sorry,” Mon said, a lump rising in her throat as she looked back at her friend. “Padmé will have the best care imaginable, I promise you. Bail told me exactly what was needed, and if there is any chance of saving the child I swear we will do it.”

“It may already be too late,” Obi-Wan murmured. “But we don’t know … she won’t let me go in with the Force and feel the baby, because she thinks that might be too disruptive. If we could only know … one way or the other …” Abruptly he seemed to realize that his hands had clenched into fists, and again he took deep breaths. “I — I’m sorry, I forgot myself.”

“No, not at all,” Mon answered gently, though she was amazed that the Jedi in him would permit such a loss of emotional control. “I completely understand. You’ve been through such a lot. I’m just glad to be able to offer assistance.”

The doctor was talking quietly to Padmé now. She was answering Ti-Lek’s questions in a hollow, dead sort of voice, her eyes hooded and devastated. After a few moments the physician made her way over to the door, tucking several instruments back inside her bag.

“So far as I can tell, she is still pregnant,” Dr. Ti-Lek began, and Obi-Wan sagged visibly in relief. “I will need to conduct a more detailed holoimaging examination once we reach the ship, but at this point we must consider the bleeding and cramping as a serious threat of miscarriage. If we do not stabilize her quickly, she will lose the pregnancy.”

“But how can we?” Obi-Wan whispered. “She can’t eat, she can’t drink …”

“Yes, exactly. And while a certain amount of sickness is normal in pregnancy, an inability to keep down any foods or liquids is certainly not. I’d like to start her on a strong anti-nausea medication and replenish her fluid levels, which will involve dripping liquids directly into her veins. We may not be in time, but we must try.”

“Why is this happening now, though?” Mon spoke up. “She’s been pregnant twice before and, so far as I know, nothing of this sort has ever occurred.”

“Impossible to say, unfortunately,” replied Dr. Ti-Lek. “We may learn more after I analyze her blood, but then again, we may not. It is possible that the cause might never be determined. But what we need to focus on now is treating the symptoms and trying to save the baby.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Obi-Wan said hurriedly.

Padmé was too weak to walk on her own, so Mon and Dr. Ti-Lek went back to the ship and brought two service droids with a stretcher. Mon then helped Lily and Obi-Wan to load the luggage onto the ship and to finish tidying the resort. Assisted by the doctor, Obi-Wan gently rolled his wife onto the stretcher. At last, they were ready to leave.

Obi-Wan picked up Luke, Mon picked up Leia and they headed out the rear door, he and the doctor walking nearest the stretcher and Mon and Lily leading the way back to the ship. Padmé had been given strong medication and an injection of fluids to stabilize her for the trip, but she’d barely had enough energy to move herself onto the stretcher, and all were quite concerned.

“Obi-Wan?” she murmured as the little group made its careful way through the trees.

“Yes, darling?” He was at her side in a second.

“Where are we going?”

The adults stiffened; she had been told twice of the plans, so it was worrisome that she did not seem to remember.

“We have to leave,” Obi-Wan explained again. “You’re very ill, and you need treatment. We’re going to Chandrila.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Do you have the album?”

“Yes. It’s in my pocket.”

“Tell Ani —” She coughed several times. “Tell him I’m sorry we didn’t invite him. He must feel so left out.”

“Er —” It was clear that Obi-Wan didn’t know quite how to respond to that. “I will. I promise.”

“Will he be there?” Padmé asked. “Or is he going to Christophsis first?”

“Padmé, he — don’t you remember?” Her husband’s tone was pleading.

“Remember?” She blinked. “I remember that you’re both supposed to deploy to Christophsis tomorrow. The Separatists are planning a big incursion and Anakin said he had to go back to the Temple and do research …” Padmé closed her eyes momentarily, gasping a little.

“Darling, that’s over,” he said gently. “That was five years ago. Anakin won’t be on Chandrila. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, Mommy, don’t be silly,” Luke chimed in.

“No —” Padmé was becoming fretful. “He said he’d be there! Ani always keeps his promises!”

“He couldn’t keep this one,” Obi-Wan quietly replied. “The — the Council asked that some additional material be added to the mission briefing, so he needed to return to the Temple before he could meet us.”

This seemed to mollify her, and she turned her attention to her son, grasping gently at his little hand. “Anakin will be so happy to meet you and your sister … I remember when he came to my holoimaging session when I was pregnant with you both … he was really excited …”

Mon furrowed her brow; Padmé appeared to be mixing up past events, and for whatever reason Obi-Wan was making no attempts to correct her. Perhaps he figured it would be kinder to let her believe what she did, instead of retelling what seemed to be a very upsetting story. The Chandrilan Senator could see it simmering beneath the Jedi’s eyes whenever his wife mentioned Anakin’s name; clearly he was struggling with some private pain. She sighed and quickened her pace slightly.

“Daddy, who’s An’kin?” Luke asked loudly.

“I —” There came the sound of a throat being cleared and a breath exhaled. “A — an old friend of your mother’s and mine. Mon, how much farther to the ship?”

“Not very much longer,” she answered, seeing a clearing up ahead. “It’s just over that rise.”

“Good, I can’t wait to see him again,” said Padmé vaguely.

“He’ll be on the ship?” exclaimed Luke, excited.

“No, he will not.” Obi-Wan sounded even more tired than before.

“Aww, no fair,” the boy complained. “Mommy? Mommy, will we see An’kin on Chandra?”

“I … hope so …” Her response was faint.

“Padmé, stay with us,” Obi-Wan said urgently.

“Mmm … tired …” she mumbled.

“No, no, we’ll be there in a minute, you’ve got to stay awake, darling —”

But it was no use. By the time they gained the ship, her eyes were closed and she seemed completely unresponsive. Mon turned to see that Obi-Wan had set Luke down and was now biting his own lip hard enough to draw blood, clutching one of Padmé’s hands and rubbing it between his own.

“Obi-Wan …” He gazed up tiredly as Mon said his name. “She’ll be all right. I’m sure she’s just sleeping.”

“But the fluids …” Obi-Wan was looking hopeless again. “The doctor gave her fluids and I thought … she’d be better …”

“She has dehydrated over a period of days, so it will naturally take a similar period before she is completely better,” Dr. Ti-Lek put in. “The injection was a stopgap measure to prevent cardiac arrest until we can get her hooked up to a more permanent drip. That’s really what she needs. And when she gets it, she will improve.”

Obi-Wan seemed more alarmed rather than less. “But … the baby … will that be enough time to save the baby?”

At this, even the physician lowered her gaze. “I’m not sure. Only time will tell.”

***

She was sleeping peacefully.

He didn’t think he would have been able to bear it if she hadn’t been. The last number of days had exhausted her both physically and mentally, but she’d refused to sleep, so frightened was Padmé that she might lose their child. Of course he’d tried to reason with her, to tell her that the less she slept, the more strain would be put on her body. She’d refused to listen. Half the time she felt too sick to sleep in any case, so he had spent many hours after the twins were put to bed simply holding her, and occasionally soothing her while she cried.

Now, she slept. Padmé looked frail and insignificant in the large medical bay’s bed, a line dripping nutritive fluids continuously into her veins. Obi-Wan had already been visited by the unpleasant thought that she’d looked very similar when he had gone to see her in the Senate’s Medcenter. But he pushed that memory quickly from his mind. No need to dwell on past difficulties.

So he pulled up a chair next to her bedside and he sat, waiting. Waiting for her to wake up, waiting for some news to be delivered about the baby, waiting for a judgment from the Force that seemed inevitably forthcoming.

“She’s absolutely exhausted,” Dr. Ti-Lek had pronounced as the medical droids helped to hook her patient up to the lines. “I’ve not got the results of the blood work back yet but I’m sure they will show she is malnourished. She needs to rest.” So saying, the physician gave Padmé a mild sedative and dimmed the medical center’s lights. Obi-Wan had then taken position next to his wife’s bed.

Occasionally one of the twins would wander in and stand in front of him with arms outstretched, silently asking to be picked up. He would pull Luke or Leia into his lap and hug them, hold them as parent and child kept the vigil together. Obi-Wan only left the medical bay when it came time to put the children to bed and they refused to let Mon or Lily — whom they understandably regarded as inferior to their parents — carry out the bedtime routine. Luke, unsurprisingly clingy, requested that his father hold him while he fell asleep. Obi-Wan knew Padmé had developed this ritual with both twins, but he hadn’t quite expected to continue it. Nevertheless, he felt a strange sort of peace while cuddling his son in his arms, watching Luke’s eyes attempt to keep their focus on him as the child slipped further and further into sleep. The boy snuggled closer, burying his face in his father’s tunics with a soft sigh. Obi-Wan bent to press a gentle kiss to Luke’s forehead.

“Your beard tickles,” Luke murmured sleepily.

“Does it?”

“Yeah.” But he was smiling, and had a look of utter contentment about him.

Obi-Wan reached deeper into the Force, feeling his son’s presence, grasping along their bond to sense the rush of warmth and trust they shared. He doubted Luke understood the full significance of the connection, but all the same, it was wonderful to experience it like this. Perhaps Padmé had been right when she said that the bond might have a higher purpose, at least for these types of encounters.

“Daddy,” Luke sighed happily.

Obi-Wan waited awhile longer until he could be sure the boy was asleep, and then he tucked him carefully into bed. Part of him was concerned, having sensed the same undercurrent of worry and fear in Luke. But he needed to get back to Padmé, and as the medical bay was right near the twins’ assigned bedroom, he hoped he would sense or hear any sort of distress before the problem became truly intractable.

And now here he was, by his wife’s bedside once more. Nothing much had changed — still she slept, and still he worried.

There was the guilt, too, if he gave himself a moment to stop and think about it. Despite the fact that he’d looked upon it previously with levity, he could not ignore what was right in front of his face.

Obi-Wan had caused this, with his foolishness and lack of control. If only he hadn’t panicked after the Vader nightmare. If only he’d taken a moment to release his fears into the Force, so he would not have been so scared. What kind of Jedi was he, anyway, to forget about the Force? He knew that if he’d kept his focus, not to mention his patience, he might not have lost his composure.

But then again, it had not been the dream which truly upset him. His real reaction had come later, when Padmé described the effects Luke’s inherited bond was having on the boy. And the thought of his son, his child growing up to face the precise same things, facing them now when his sole concern should have been playing and being a little boy … this had broken him completely. He knew what it was to live with a bond, to experience emotional connections on such a deep level despite the fact that they had been prohibited by the Old Order. He also knew about the wrenching sense of loss and the deep, almost physical pain that came when the carrier of a bond was confronted with grief of any kind — especially grief relating to a loved one. And as Obi-Wan imagined all of those emotions, he knew that he could cope with them because he had been doing so for a very long while. But he had passed the same ability on to his child … and now what had been passed on could not be revoked.

So what had he done? Well, of course he’d gone and caused his wife to conceive another child. A child who had just as much potential to inherit the bond as Luke did. Obi-Wan knew that the chances of this were low, given the inherent rarity of Force bonds, but it seemed like just the sort of irony the universe would cook up to torture him if the baby lived.

As if he hadn’t been tortured enough. It was difficult sometimes not to simply throw up his arms and, as Anakin had once done, exclaim that life simply wasn’t fair.

Obi-Wan leant forward on the chair and massaged his temples, well aware that he was thinking in an entirely self-centred and circular manner. Most likely due to fatigue, although this didn’t exactly make it any better or less self-indulgent. He’d been relying on the Force for days to stay awake and functional, but perhaps he was reaching the end of even the enhanced endurance that could provide. Yet he couldn’t … he couldn’t fall asleep now … he had the twins to care for, and Padmé … he just couldn’t.

Almost as though his thoughts had conjured her mental presence, his wife turned her head slightly and shivered, stretching out feeble fingers to grasp the bed rail. Obi-Wan made sure they met his hand instead, and he clasped them gently.

“Obi-Wan …?” she whispered, her voice thick with sleep.

“I’m here, darling.” He kissed her hand softly, sweetly. “I promise you, I’m here.”

“The baby!” Suddenly Padmé opened her eyes wide. “Obi-Wan, the baby —”

“He’s fine.” He squeezed her hand. “Absolutely fine. You didn’t lose him.” Yet, he did not add.

She sagged with relief. “I can’t — I thought —”

“Please don’t worry, darling. Please, you need to rest. The baby will be fine, I promise you.”

Padmé’s eyelids were drooping again. “You look exhausted,” she commented ironically.

“I’m all right.”

“You haven’t been sleeping either,” she accused. “Obi-Wan, the Force can only take you so far.”

Mirroring his earlier thoughts, of course, but he didn’t say that. “Shhh. Don’t worry about me.”

Obi-Wan rubbed her hand between his. “Your hands are like ice.”

“I’m cold.” She shivered, trying to burrow deeper under the thin sheets.

Obi-Wan looked about for a blanket, anything he could use to cover her, but found none. “I’ll go look in the twins’ room, they might have something …”

“No!” Padmé grabbed his wrist with surprising strength. “No, Obi-Wan, please.”

“What?” He leant close. “Tell me what you want.”

“I just — I want —” Tears began to streak her cheeks. “I want you, I want us to sleep like we did before, together … I want to be out of here and I just want the baby …”

“All right.” He stroked her cheek gently, brushing away the moisture, aching for contact as much as she seemed to be. “It’s all right, we’ll do it together. Here.”

And he began stripping off his cloak and pulling off his boots. A twitch of the Force unlocked the bed rail and he slid slowly in, cupping himself around her and pressing a kiss into her hair.

“There, is that better?”

“But — if someone finds you like this —”

“No matter. You are my wife, and you’re ill. We’re not hurting anyone or anything.”

Slowly Padmé began to relax against him, melting into his gentle strokes of her arms and his fingers drifting through her curls. She still felt pale and cold beneath his touch, but her lips were curved upwards in a small smile.

“We’re going to have a baby, darling,” she murmured sleepily.

“Yes, we are.” He nuzzled her cheek.

“I think she’s a girl.” Padmé’s fingers knitted through his. “Another little girl … a friend for Leia …”

“Luke will be upset,” Obi-Wan chuckled, feeling content for the first time in a few days.

“He’ll love her too,” Padmé said softly. “He’ll get to be a big brother … Leia is more his equal than anything else. But he’ll love the baby. He’ll dote on her.”

Obi-Wan slid his hand down to her abdomen, caressing gently. “May I …?”

She stiffened slightly, but then nodded. “All right.”

And so he dipped back into the Force, into the energy flowing around them, and delighted in the love and light he could sense from her before plunging inside her Force signature, feeling, probing, testing … and he found it much more easily this time, the tiny embryo. The baby was bigger now than when he had last probed, which was surprising considering Padmé’s health problems. Its thoughts — if indeed they could be referred to as such — were still undefined and impossible to read, but if he sank deeper beneath the surface, he could sense movement, tiny arms already waving back and forth. And …

“Ah,” Obi-Wan murmured suddenly.

“What?” Padmé exclaimed, alarmed.

“I can tell if the baby is a boy or a girl,” he explained. “Would you like to know?”

She was silent for several moments, and Obi-Wan thought she might have fallen asleep. “No,” Padmé said at length. “Half the fun for me when I was pregnant with the twins was trying to guess whether they were boys or girls, or one of each. I want to do the same thing this time. And usually I’m pretty good at guessing.”

“You guessed for Luke and Leia?”

“For Luke. I was almost certain that one of the babies would be a boy. Ani was convinced they were girls. Well, we were both right, really.”

He sighed. “You know where we’re going, right? To Chandrila?”

Padmé blinked. “Of course I do! Why wouldn’t I?”

“You didn’t before,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “Dr. Ti-Lek said you were so dehydrated that you were starting to hallucinate.”

“Oh my goddess,” she whispered. “What did I say?”

“You thought that Anakin was still alive, and that he’d be meeting us on Chandrila.” Unconsciously, his grip had tightened. “Then you said he and I were supposed to deploy to Christophsis for that battle.”

“Darling, I’m sorry,” Padmé said immediately. “I didn’t mean to bring all that up again …”

“I know,” he replied, drifting a finger along her cheek. “You were ill, you are ill … and you didn’t know what you were saying. I understand.”

“But still, it must have been awful for you.”

“I want to remember him,” Obi-Wan said evenly. “But together with everything that had happened, it just … well, it wasn’t something I wanted to hear. But neither was it your fault.”

“I know. And I’m still sorry.” She closed her eyes and pillowed the back of her head against his chest, sighing softly. “You should sleep too.”

“I’m not tired,” he lied.

“Oh, Obi-Wan, come on. That’s what Leia tells me when she’s having too much fun to go to bed. Surely you can be more creative than that.”

“I just want to make sure you’re all right,” Obi-Wan finally sighed. “If … if something goes wrong, I want to help you.”

“Which you won’t be able to do if you’re too exhausted to stand up straight,” Padmé pointed out. “I’ve given you the perfect opportunity right now. Sleep.”

“Oh, so that was your plan?”

“Well,” she replied diplomatically, “one good turn deserves another.”

He chuckled. “I suppose.”

“Go on!” Padmé said after a few moments. “Close your eyes! Meditate! Do whatever it is you need to do to fall asleep!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“All right, all right.”

They continued to laugh as she drifted off to sleep, and he soon followed, his hand still clasped over the place where the baby grew.

***

Pain.

Hard, fast, sharp. Ever-present.

She wrenched herself into wakefulness from a beautiful dream, a dream in which the twins had run through a golden field with a young brown-haired girl hot on their trail. The girl had turned back, her curls bouncing against her shoulders, to wave happily at her mother. Then the images had swirled until she could hear the clashing of lightsabers, running feet, an unfamiliar voice exclaiming, “Now’s our chance, go!”

And another voice, vaguely recognizable but changed somehow, saying, “You can’t win, Darth … if you strike me down I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine …” A loud scream, followed by a woman’s shout: “Daddy!”

Then, she had woken up, the same scream still in her throat, pain lancing and stabbing through her middle. She screamed again and kept screaming, over and over, even as she reached her hand down to find bright red blood on the sheets, even as the doctor came running through the doors …

And the word she screamed was Eshonna.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Chandrila

Abruptly Padmé opened her eyes, panting, gasping, slight nausea permeating her throat.

She still wanted to scream, to cry, to grab at her husband and to make him tell her that everything would be all right …

Eshonna! Eshonna! Eshonna!

Her own cries echoed in her ears.

Padmé whipped her head to the right and saw instantly that she was alone in bed, Obi-Wan having departed for parts unknown. Frantically she plunged her hand underneath the sheets and felt around, searching for wetness, expecting at any moment that her fingers would come back tinged with red. But they were clean — pale, but clean. She fell back against her pillows, already exhausted.

A dream. It had only been a dream.

A dream within a dream, yes — and the other elements were already fading — there had been lightsabers, and voices, and more screaming … and the pain, when she’d woken up …

But what if it wasn’t?

What if that had happened?

After all, she could still feel his arms around her, restraining her as Dr. Ti-Lek poked at her arms for a blood sample. Shouting, tears, a horrific scene … and it could have happened … they could have cleaned her up, got rid of all the evidence of her child … and she would never know … goddesses, she would never know …

She took deep breaths, trying to relax, but it was no good. Concern for the baby seemed to have become the focus of her life now, though she could scarcely believe that of herself. What was the matter with her? She used to have other goals, dreams, desires. But now, somehow, the child she was carrying overrode everything. And that wasn’t something she could simply decide to stop; she’d tried. But the fear was always there, always waiting to close cold fingers around her throat.

It had her now. It had her and it wasn’t letting her go.

A door slid open at the far end of the room and Padmé heard her husband’s familiar footsteps. Should she ask him? Would he tell her everything was fine? But how could he, after what had happened? Would he lie to her? Maybe she should be safe and not say anything at all. Bile rose in her throat again as she considered the possibilities.

Obi-Wan slid into the chair at her bedside and reached for her hand. She thought of pulling it back, but at the last minute could not find the energy or the courage to do so.

“Darling?” Obi-Wan said.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling sick with fear now as well. Was he about to tell her that her dream had been reality? She couldn’t stand it if that were the case.

He reached over and began to stroke her hair softly. “Padmé, I know you’re awake. What’s the matter?”

She could barely force the words out. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

“No, the baby is absolutely fine.” Obi-Wan squeezed her hand. “It was only a dream, I promise you. You had a very bad nightmare, that’s all.”

“Nightmare?” The word felt foreign on Padmé’s tongue. “But — but it was so real …”

“Most do seem that way, yes. I’ve had some very frightening dreams, as well you know, and they’re quite realistic. But yours did not happen. It didn’t.”

“Eshonna,” Padmé mumbled.

“That’s what you were shouting,” he nodded. “She was your grandmother, right?”

“Yes, but …” She finally turned to face him, swallowing hard. “She wasn’t my grandmother in the dream, she was the baby. And she was older, and you and she and the twins were on this ship or something and you fought … someone, and she was screaming … and then I thought I woke up.”

“I fought?” His voice was slightly sharper.

“I think it was you.” She struggled to sift through the hazy memories. “You called somebody Darth, and then there was a lot more yelling. I thought I woke up and lost the baby then.”

“It was only a dream,” Obi-Wan soothed.

“I know.” Padmé bit her lip. “Obi-Wan, what’s happening to me? All I can think about is not losing the baby. And I hate to be like that because there’s so much else to care about, so much else to want. But none of that matters to me now.”

“Well, I think it’s perfectly natural,” Obi-Wan said. “You’ve already lost one child, and that was a terrible experience. Of course you don’t want to go through it again.”

“But I wasn’t even this way with the twins! It doesn’t make sense!”

“Didn’t you have more to think about back then?” he asked reasonably. “You were still working in the Senate, which would have provided a healthy distraction.”

“And I was mostly worried about you,” Padmé added, thinking it over. “I was afraid you’d be killed or injured, especially after I found out I was pregnant. I wanted you to see the babies, to know that you were going to be a father.”

“Well, there you are,” Obi-Wan replied, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Now you haven’t much to focus on, except caring for Luke and Leia. All that extra concern needs to go somewhere.”

Padmé sighed as the door slid open again and Leia hurried in, bouncing over to her father and holding out her arms. “Up,” she commanded.

“What do you say?” Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow in a silent reminder of manners.

“Please,” Leia added dutifully.

Her father smiled and scooped her into his arms, settling her on his lap. “Did you finish your breakfast?” he asked after he’d kissed the top of her head.

“Yep. Hey, Mommy, guess what? Mon made flatcakes!”

“Did she?” Padmé smiled, reaching out to stroke her daughter’s cheek. “How very lucky!”

“Yeah. An’ we’re almost at Chandra. Lily said. And know what?”

“What?”

“She’s teachin’ us a game!” Leia crowed. “It’s hard, but know what?”

Padmé chuckled. “What?”

“It’s got monsters! And one of ’em’s yellow and it has this big stick, and know what the stick is for? To hit other monsters! An’ Luke always wants the yellow monster but I told him he gots to share. An’ then Lily thought we were fighting so she flipped a cubit and guess what?”

Both parents were smiling over the little girl’s head. “What?” Padmé said for the third time.

“I won! So I got the monster,” Leia barreled on. “An’ Luke said it wasn’t fair an’ I said it was, and then I made the monster hit his blue monster an’ he cried, so Lily made us stop. An’ I stuck my tongue out at him and he did it back to me so you know what? Mon made us stand in the corner! It wasn’t fair.” She stuck out her lower lip in a pout.

“Well, I’m sure she had her reasons,” Padmé replied. “She just wants to make sure you both get along, that’s all.”

“But we always do!” Leia protested. Then she furrowed her brow. “’Cept when we don’t.”

Padmé laughed. “Yes, I know.”

“How’s the baby?” Leia asked then.

“She’s fine. I’m feeling a little better today.”

“Luke said you had a bad dream,” Leia informed her mother.

“Did he?” She could sense Obi-Wan looking at her over the top of their daughter’s head, but she chose not to look back. “Well, everyone has bad dreams sometimes, even mommies and daddies … what, Obi-Wan?”

For he had just rolled his eyes skyward. “Well — you’re just like me, darling.”

“What in the galaxy do you mean?” Padmé demanded.

“Downplaying it, telling everyone not to worry and that you’ll be fine, when really I’m sure it must have been a very upsetting event,” he replied.

“Well, I am fine!” she said indignantly. “Look at me, Obi-Wan, I feel better than I have in days. So I’m not going to fuss over a silly dream.”

“Would you say that if she wasn’t in the room?” Obi-Wan asked pointedly.

“Of course I would!” Padmé exclaimed.

He shook his head in fond exasperation. “You are just like me. Get help.”

At that she had to laugh, finally able to see the parallels. Yes, how many times had she chastised her husband for downplaying the severity of his nightmares and the emotional impact they had on him? She supposed he had a point, but she really did feel better. Her husband’s presence helped, and Leia had certainly distracted her. Perhaps Obi-Wan was right, and she didn’t have enough to occupy her.

Leia squirmed suddenly on her father’s lap, twisting to look up at him. “Daddy?”

Obi-Wan leaned down to nuzzle her. “Is this not exciting enough for you, love?”

“Grown-up talk is boring.” Leia made a face.

Both Obi-Wan and Padmé laughed. “I’m sure you’ll think differently when you’re a little older, sweetheart,” Padmé said, reaching out to brush her daughter’s hair back.

“No, I won’t,” Leia said firmly.

“We’ll see,” Obi-Wan smiled.

They spoke quietly for a few more minutes, Leia occasionally contributing her own opinions and stories. She then tugged on her father’s sleeve, drawing his attention away from Padmé.

“Daddy, where’s the fresher?” she asked.

“Oh, did Mon not show you yesterday?” Obi-Wan replied.

“Yeah, but I forget. And I gotta go.”

“All right, come on.” He stood and hefted her into his arms, reaching down to squeeze Padmé’s hand. “I’ll be back, darling. And I’ll check on our arrival time as well.”

“Thank you,” Padmé smiled, squeezing back. “I’ll be fine —”

“Daddy, are you sure you know where the fresher is?” Leia interrupted urgently.

“Yes, Leia, I’m sure,” Obi-Wan said patiently. “We’ll find it, I promise. I’ve been several times, so I’m not going to forget.”

“Okay …” She sounded uncertain, but nevertheless wound her arms around her father’s neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

Padmé watched them leave, a small smile on her face as she leaned back against her pillows. She loved seeing Obi-Wan with the children, how much they adored him and how attached he obviously was to them. He’d let her observe a few of the training sessions, and she could not help but admire how patient Obi-Wan was with Luke and Leia, his level of acceptance of their as-yet-limited abilities and how receptive to their questions he always seemed to be. He never raised his voice and never criticized, even when one of the twins made a mistake. Luke and Leia loved him as their Master just as much as they did when he was acting in the capacity of father. Errors were gently and subtly corrected, and looked upon as a learning experience rather than as an opportunity to punish. Yet he was always pushing the children to test their limits, to experiment, to try new things, and they were only too happy to do so.

Competition between the twins was carefully discouraged, and she had heard her husband explain many times that “winning” and “losing” were not the point of the training. Being young, Luke and Leia naturally tried to play off one another, but Obi-Wan was quick to put a stop to this behaviour whenever it surfaced. The twins were learning, albeit slowly, and he had told Padmé that most competitive impulses would diminish as the children grew older and completed more training.

She wondered how the new baby would fit into all this, and whether he or she would resent the natural partnership the twins shared. Padmé hoped not. She hoped her family could stay together and could be unified. They would need to be in order to stand against the Empire, and to rebuild the Jedi Order and the Republic.

Presently the door slid open and Obi-Wan and Leia reappeared. She was holding his hand and walking alongside him now, chattering away about something.

“Mommy, guess what?” Leia exclaimed, running up to her mother’s beside. “The toilet, in the fresher? It flushed autermaticly! And the sink, it’s so high, Daddy had to hold me up to wash my hands!”

“Wow,” Padmé said, chuckling. “But you have to admit it was probably built for grown-ups.”

“They should make another one for kids,” the girl grumbled. “It’s not fair!”

“I’m sure they didn’t have little ones in mind when they built it, sweetheart,” Padmé replied. “Here, let me see your hands.”

Leia sighed but allowed Obi-Wan to boost her up again, much as he had done at the sink. Padmé grasped first her daughter’s right hand and then her left, checking to make sure she had cleaned them properly — or, as properly as someone who was almost four could. The elder detected no visible signs of dirt, so she allowed her husband to release their daughter with a smile.

“Looks good,” Padmé said. “But you haven’t had a bath in a few days, have you? I’m betting Daddy hasn’t had time for that.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Obi-Wan sighed.

“That’s okay!” Leia blurted out. “Luke an’ I don’t mind!”

Padmé laughed. “I’m sure you don’t, but both of you need baths. We’ll do that when we get to Chandrila.”

“Aww …” complained Leia.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to keep up with those sorts of things,” Obi-Wan spoke up. “I haven’t really thought of much else since you became ill, and —”

“And you don’t train us anymore either,” Leia interrupted. “Daddy, when are we gonna play dodge-bolt? It’s soooo funny when Luke gets blasted!”

“Soon, I hope.” Obi-Wan sat again on the chair. “Maybe when we get to Chandrila, which shouldn’t take long. Mon said our estimated time of arrival is one hour from now.”

“And where will we be going?” Padmé asked. “Obviously we can’t land in the capital …”

“No, we’re going directly to Mon’s residence,” explained Obi-Wan. “Apparently she accepted a resignation package rather soon after the Empire’s inception — well, she didn’t so much accept it as she was forced to take it. Evidently Palpatine wanted her out of the way and someone in place who would be more loyal to his policies. But he was willing to give her almost any amount of credits in exchange for her silence, so she purchased a very lovely residence in an otherwise deserted area. It’s got access to medical supplies, communications equipment, almost everything anyone could need. And it’s completely private. No one will know we’re there.”

“That’s good.” Padmé was growing tired, her eyelids heavy. “I’m surprised that Mon would accept silence, though. She was always extremely vocal.”

“She feels she can do more good under the cover of benevolence, I suppose.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, none of that matters to me so long as it’s safe and quiet and we can care for you. Dr. Ti-Lek has been sworn to absolute secrecy, and she won’t be leaving the residence at all until the baby is born.”

“Mmm,” she murmured. One more worry expunged from her mind. Now I can focus solely on the pregnancy, Padmé thought cynically.

“Here, darling, why don’t we leave you to rest,” Obi-Wan said, setting Leia carefully on the floor. “Go find your brother, all right, love?” he addressed his daughter. “See if he wants to play the game with the monsters again. And remember to share.”

Padmé opened her eyes wide, irrationally afraid that her husband would be leaving too. “You don’t have to do that —”

“We don’t want to disturb you, Padmé. Go on, Leia. Run along.”

With one last glance and a smile at her mother, the girl hugged Obi-Wan and skipped from the room, humming under her breath. Padmé turned her gaze quickly to Obi-Wan, drawing up courage as he made to rise from his chair.

“Please.” She reached for his wrist, her fingers just brushing the skin. “Please, if you don’t need to go with her … I don’t want to be …”

Padmé couldn’t quite admit it.

Obi-Wan caught her hand, clasping it between two of his again. “It’s all right, I’m not going anywhere. I just wanted to give you the option in case you did want to sleep.”

“I do.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “But I can’t … I can’t be alone. I think too much. I start wondering what will happen, whether this will continue … I can’t do it. I can’t.” Unexpectedly, tears pricked her eyes.

“I know.” Once more he unlocked the bed rail and unfastened his boots, sliding into the bed and pulling her towards him, careful of the fluid lines and other monitoring equipment. “Just relax, darling. Relax.”

She felt suddenly guilty. “I’m keeping you from the kids, from flying the ship …”

Soft fingers played along her cheek and through her hair. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“But …”

“Mon and Lily will take care of the twins. Mon herself told me to spend as much time with you as I could. And as for the ship … I hate flying.”

She chuckled, knowing that while he might be trying to appear glib, Obi-Wan honestly did detest flying. It had been a contrast between him and Anakin — while Obi-Wan was in all respects a more than competent pilot, his best friend had exceeded him both in skill and desire. Obi-Wan had confessed to her once that he could not understand how Anakin thrived so much on air battles, on the threat that he might be killed at any moment. Fear was not supposed to be part of a Jedi’s emotional makeup, but he would be remiss if he didn’t admit to feeling a prickle of unease every time he stepped into a cockpit.

His fingers were stroking along her back, circling around to the front to draw concentric circles around her navel. The touch was intimate but not provocative, lulling her to rest. Padmé suspected he was also using some trick of the Force to calm her, but she did not comment on this.

“Shhh,” Obi-Wan murmured. “You’re exhausted. Go to sleep.”

Obediently her eyes began to slide closed, but she fumbled for and grasped his hand tightly. “Stay with me.”

“I will. I promise.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Finally accepting of the calm that had stolen over her, Padmé settled back against her husband and closed her eyes.

***

They gained Chandrila exactly on schedule, landing directly in Mon’s expansive hangar bay. Obi-Wan was amazed to see that Mon even had a hangar bay, but he supposed that it might serve as an intriguing symbol of how tenuous Palpatine’s control of his Empire really must be, if he was willing to provide Mon with such lavish funds to simply buy her silence. This encouraged him somehow, in a strange way he could not verbalize.

Padmé remained asleep as they settled her in one of the largest bedrooms in the place. Obi-Wan was pleased to note the expansive size of the bed, since while he had not minded being near her in the medical facility, it had been rather a tight squeeze. This way he could sleep beside her, hold her, without needing to be constantly on his guard to avoid tumbling to the floor.

Dr. Ti-Lek administered another dose of anti-nausea medication, and took time to go through the results of Padmé’s blood tests with Obi-Wan. “It’s just as I expected; she is quite malnourished,” the doctor said. “So I will keep her on the fluids and the medicine until she has passed the fourth month, when the nausea should improve. Then we’ll reevaluate whether she is able to keep down adequate food and liquids. The bleeding and cramping she has been experiencing is likely a result of stress, both physical and mental.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “She is very afraid that she will lose the baby, because of what happened to her before.”

The physician nodded. “I understand, but she must avoid stress whenever and wherever possible. How might she feel about bed rest?”

He swallowed. “Complete?”

“Perhaps not complete, but it would really be the easiest way to cut out stress. She could get up and down occasionally to walk around, and to use the refresher, but overall Senator Kenobi ought to remain in bed.”

“Senator ...?” Obi-Wan blinked stupidly.

“Oh!” Dr. Ti-Lek reddened slightly. “Senator Mothma told me that Padmé was a Senator, and married to you, and so naturally I assumed —”

“Never mind, never mind,” Obi-Wan said hastily. Secretly, he was pleased. “For how long would she need to remain in bed?”

“You’re going to hate the answer to that one: it depends. It depends on whether the spotting and cramping cease, and whether she is able to eat and drink normally again. I would also like to see her stress levels subside a little.”

“All right.” He sighed again, running a tired hand over his face. “But I’m sure she isn’t going to like it.”


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

The Brave One

Obi-Wan was right. Padmé did not like it, not in the least. She agreed to the idea, as it was obviously meant to help her continue the pregnancy, but this did not stop her from being upset about it. Normally she kept silent, understanding that a litany of complaints would not help the situation, but Obi-Wan often caught her staring into space, looking sad and regretful. He had a feeling that she was, as she had said, “thinking too much,” but he wasn’t sure exactly how to help.

He spent as much time with her as he could, but nor did he wish to neglect the children, and Padmé often told him to go and be with them. Luke and Leia were fixtures in the bedroom, of course, and Obi-Wan even conducted a few training sessions there. These were largely failures, owing to the fact that the twins became distracted by their mother’s presence, but they enjoyed showing off for her. And the sessions were diversions from what seemed like endless days and even longer nights.

But it was helping. Clearly, it was helping. Padmé still had bouts of nausea, but they did not come as often and were not nearly as severe. The cramping and bleeding finished as well, almost as soon as she was adequately nourished and rested. All of this reminded Padmé of what she was fighting for, and it became easier. Not by much, but enough to prevent her from going entirely stir-crazy.

And then one morning about three months after they had arrived on Chandrila, Obi-Wan awoke to an unusual sensation, a kind of prickle in the Force. It was vague but somehow foreboding, like the warnings he would get from his bond. But unlike those warnings, it was also unclear, so he had few clues as to what he ought to make of it.

He stretched and inched closer to Padmé, feeling her move instinctively towards his touch even in her sleep. His hand found the soft curve of her abdomen, which had rounded quite prominently over the last few months. It was only recently that he had been able to feel the kicks and punches of the life within, but he never grew tired of that. This baby was strong, and growing stronger. They had started referring to the child as “she” almost by default, since Padmé was so convinced it would be a girl. And right now she was very active, awake before her mother, pushing what felt like feet against the pressure of his hand. He caressed the spot lightly with one finger and the baby drew away, then punched directly at his palm.

“You’re feisty, little one,” he murmured. “I doubt even the Force itself could silence you.”

Of course, this was by no means certain. Though Padmé was nearly seven months pregnant, the child still needed to grow and develop for just a little longer. Dr. Ti-Lek had lifted most of the restrictions, meaning Padmé could walk around Mon’s home and generally be as active as she pleased. But she was still getting her strength back, and had an inclination above all to be careful. Obi-Wan admired that about her, for surely it could not be easy.

“You’ll be just like your mother,” he mused to the baby. “She’s strong, too … strong, and brave, and wise. I knew she would be from the moment I saw her. A queen at fourteen … dealing with a trade dispute that would have cost many older leaders their careers … Senator at such a young age … willing to betray her planet’s traditions and her family’s orders because she believed in me, believed in our love, even when I couldn’t. And the war, going through everything she did … not knowing if I’d come back and what state I’d be in when I did … the massacre at the Temple …” He stopped short, not wanting to dredge up those painful memories.

“You were brave too,” said a soft voice.

Obi-Wan jumped; he hadn’t even realized his wife was awake. But she was, and her fingers stroked gently through his hair as she continued to speak.

“You’ve had to live through more terrible things than almost anyone. And all with a bond that made it twice as difficult to let go. You are the brave one, not me.”

Obi-Wan wanted to argue, but he knew they could go back and forth like this for an eternity, so he concentrated on slowly massaging her stomach. “Do you ever … are you ever upset that I didn’t tell you earlier? About the bond?”

Padmé shifted herself to a sitting position and tilted her head in consideration. “Not really. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. I’d always known you weren’t like other Jedi. I met others before you, and they always seemed so straitlaced, even the Masters and Padawans. It was like they didn’t want friends, as though the very idea of cultivating a friendship with another being was a sign of personal weakness. But you and Qui-Gon weren’t like that. I could see when I first met you, from the way he looked at you, that he cared for you a great deal. He saw you as the son he would never be able to have. What surprised me the most was that you were the same. You seemed so rule-abiding in other ways, but in this … you couldn’t help yourself.”

Suddenly he couldn’t meet her gaze, so he kept his eyes fixed on the spot where the baby was kicking.

“And then, when you turned up with Anakin ten years later, well, I was sure of it,” Padmé continued. “There was something there, something intangible that other members of the Order didn’t have. It made you stronger, more capable of understanding one another. And then your reaction after he died … well, I thought you’d be shattered, but not quite to that degree. The nightmares, the way you felt comfortable enough around me to let down your guard, to grieve openly. I knew there was something. And then there was that strange connection between you and Luke. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when you told me.”

Still he looked at his hands on her smooth skin. “I thought you’d be angry, that you’d feel I kept something from you unfairly.”

She just shrugged. “If there was something, I thought you’d tell me sooner or later. And if not, well, it couldn’t be that important, could it?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “I do wish I’d said something. But I didn’t want you to think that I loved you only because of the bond. It contributed, but I love so many other things about you.”

Again she stroked his hair, nodding. “I know.”

They were silent for several moments more, Padmé leaning against the pillows at the head of the bed and Obi-Wan continuing to caress her abdomen.

“Is she cooperating?” Padmé asked with a smile.

“Mmm, yes. I’m not really trying to make her do anything. I just want to feel her kicking.”

“Try being me,” she laughed. “Then you could feel that all the time.”

He bit his lip. “Does she hurt you?”

“No,” Padmé said. “Sometimes she’ll startle me or make me jump, but it doesn’t hurt. It can be very strange, though, to feel another person moving around inside me.”

As if to prove her point the baby gave a hard kick, such that Obi-Wan’s hand actually bounced upward. Padmé winced, and he arched an eyebrow.

“Well, all right, sometimes it hurts a little,” she amended. “The baby’s getting stronger.”

“Yes, she certainly is.” He patted the spot where the child had punched her, then bent to kiss it. “You know, we shall eventually have to stop calling her ‘she’ or ‘the baby.’ She needs a name.”

“She does,” Padmé agreed. “Or he, I guess. We should start coming up with names.”

“Mmm.” Obi-Wan stroked his beard contemplatively. “That grandmother of yours, I always thought she had a pretty name. What was it — Elina?”

“Eshonna,” Padmé corrected with a smile. “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that, especially since I dreamed it. And I also thought maybe you should name her, since I named the twins.”

“Well, I wasn’t around much,” he pointed out. “You had to choose, or they might still be nameless.”

“But that wasn’t your fault.” She tugged his left hand upwards until she could kiss the fingers. “It was the war, and you had to be away … but I’m so glad you’re here now. You’re here, and we don’t have to hide this. Well, from our friends, anyway.”

“It was difficult for you, wasn’t it?” Obi-Wan said, crawling up beside her and cradling her in his arms. “I’m sure it must have been.”

“It was, but I never really thought of it that way. If I had, it would have made me so upset to remember what I was missing — the culture, the traditions on Naboo surrounding pregnancy. It’s such an important time for family, for showing that you’re contributing to planetary tradition. But I couldn’t think that way. I’ve never really let myself do that.”

Obi-Wan sighed and bent down, silently requesting a kiss. She smiled and pressed her lips to his, reaching up to stroke his cheek. It was soft and gentle, the sort of intimacy they had not been able to share in far too long. Padmé leaned forward, deepening the embrace, trying to pull him closer, on top of her. She felt suddenly desperate with need, desire coursing through her veins, and hoped against hope that he would not hesitate, that he would follow through much as she had when their child had been conceived. But because Obi-Wan was Obi-Wan, he soon pulled back, pressing a gentle finger to her lips.

“Darling, we can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Of course we can!” Padmé exclaimed. “It’s been months since the bleeding stopped, and even Dr. Ti-Lek has said I’m not in any danger.”

“Of dying, yes.” He looked as reluctant as she felt, his eyes bright with arousal, but he was already moving away and she knew that, as a Jedi, his self-control was unmatched, finely-honed to a razor’s edge. “But the baby still needs to stay where she is, and we don’t know what risks it may pose. I couldn’t hurt her.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “The idea that she may be somehow injured … I couldn’t. Please, don’t ask me to.”

She was tempted to try and persuade him, but he looked so determined and afraid that she couldn’t bear to continue her reasoning. Obi-Wan gave her a last soft kiss and with obvious effort eased himself back down beside her. Padmé could hear him taking deep, slow breaths.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This isn’t very fair for you.”

“I’ll live.”

“I know, but —”

“Padmé, before we finally began our relationship I hadn’t been with anyone else for around nine years. Ten, perhaps. I stopped seeking out that sort of thing once — well, once Anakin was entrusted to me. I didn’t feel it was right, and the restrictions the Council placed upon me because of the bond made it a rather academic exercise in any case. Going without physical satisfaction is not a problem for me.”

“But you and I are different,” she objected. “You have been known to seek it out on occasion. Otherwise we would hardly be in this predicament in the first place.” Padmé gestured to her belly.

“A fact which I readily regret. Not the baby herself,” he clarified quickly at the look on Padmé’s face, “but rather that I caused you so much difficulty in those first months. It was a foolish mistake. I’m still not sure why I did it.”

“Obi-Wan, stop blaming yourself,” Padmé said tiredly. “We were both a little crazy that night. I wouldn’t have let you do what you did if I hadn’t wanted it, and I also know you would never have continued unless I said it was okay. The two of us share responsibility for this.”

“Be that as it may, I won’t put either of you at risk now,” Obi-Wan replied firmly. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “I understand. I just thought I could help you. In another way.” Her hand found his shoulder and she began to drift her fingers downwards.

He stilled the motion, looking tempted despite himself. “That’s not fair for you.”

Padmé shrugged. “Perhaps not, but neither is it fair to you to go without just because of me.”

“Don’t you want someone to suffer with you?” Obi-Wan winked.

“Maybe, but not as much as I’d like to make you happy,” she answered. “You’ve been under so much stress lately …”

“Mmm.” He released her hand and it was immediately in motion again, brushing over his stomach and then lower. This time Obi-Wan made no sign that he planned to stop the actions.

Padmé did her best, interchanging her hands with her mouth and resolutely ignoring the heat pulsing in her own centre as she watched his face contort with pleasure and his hands tangle in the blankets, the pants and gasps of her name and the way his blue eyes blazed and then squeezed shut as that pleasure reached its zenith and she swallowed everything he had to give.

Afterward, Obi-Wan lay boneless in the circle of her arms, one hand cradling her abdomen and massaging it to feel the baby’s kicks. Her fingers stroked through his hair now, as his eyes drifted open and shut. He sighed happily.

“There, wasn’t that worth it?” Padmé asked.

“I suppose,” he murmured after a long moment.

“Only suppose?”

“I’d rather have you be a part of it, darling.”

“We could.” It was her turn to wink at him. “I really believe there isn’t any harm in it.”

“No. Absolutely not.” His objection was accompanied by a sharp kick from their child. “You see, she agrees with me!”

“All right, all right,” Padmé conceded with a small smile. If she was truly honest with herself, she knew she didn’t want to risk the baby either, even if that risk was slight. No amount of risk was acceptable right now, not until the baby was ready to be born.

“Luke’s awake,” Obi-Wan noted, repositioning himself slightly. “He’ll be coming in to see us soon.”

“Well, that’s okay. We’re decent.” She smiled.

“Yes. True.” He sighed again. “Padmé … the Force was different this morning. Something may be about to happen, but I can’t tell what it is. I just … sensed it, indistinctly. I apologize for not saying anything earlier, but —”

“It’s okay,” Padmé said quickly; she could now hear their son’s footsteps padding along the hall. “Darling, look at me.”

He raised his gaze towards her questioningly.

“Whatever it is, we’ll get through it,” she told him. “We have our friends, and nobody knows we’re here, and if necessary we can contact Bail on Alderaan.”

“Yes, but —”

“No buts.” She pressed her finger gently to his lips, much as he had done earlier for her. “We just have to stay together. That’s all.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan echoed then. “I suppose that’s all.”

They were both smiling when Luke opened the door.

***

He could see them, as plainly as he saw himself. His own hands were smooth, unblemished, but most of all human, not the mechanical monstrosities he was accustomed to. And he could watch them with his own eyes. He drank in each one of them.

Obi-Wan, his auburn hair shining in the sunlight, dressed in the usual Jedi tunic, looked more relaxed than he had ever been, smiling brightly. But more than that, he seemed happy, truly carefree. That nonchalance made him look about five years younger, minimizing the gray that was beginning to creep into his hair.

The twins were with him, using training sabers to defend against the small remotes orbiting them. Occasionally one of the remotes would send out a small blaster bolt that the children would try to block, though more often than not these bolts found their mark. Well did the observer remember this activity, and it could be a humiliating experience. The bolts stung, of course, but there was little worse than being hit by one of them in your backside and hopping up and down while your fellow students giggled at the display. He had hated it, but the twins seemed to be enjoying themselves.

And there was someone else present too: in Obi-Wan’s arms, another child rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping small arms around his neck as he occasionally patted her back and whispered something to her that caused her to grin.

The observer furrowed his brow in confusion. Who was this little girl? Had Obi-Wan adopted an orphan, perhaps from the Clone Wars? But no, the girl was too young, and as he looked closer he could see traces of Obi-Wan in the child’s features … and of Padmé. The girl’s eyes, the shape of her face, her hands, the way she moved and the way she seemed to curiously take in the world around her were pure Obi-Wan, while Padmé had lent herself to the way the child’s curls fell around her cheeks, the colour of her hair, her brow and her wide smile.

As soon as he understood these facts the observer wanted to move closer, to see the family, to talk to them, to learn the little girl’s name. And he wanted to be with Obi-Wan again, to help his Master, to renew the bonds of brotherhood that had existed between them. And then perhaps Obi-Wan would take him to Padmé, for she must surely still be alive, and he could see once again how beautiful she was …

He tried to move, tried to walk towards them, but he couldn’t … his feet were stuck … he couldn’t lift them! He looked down in puzzlement to see that instead of the dark tunic pants and boots he expected, mechanical claw-like feet jutted from his knees downwards, fastened irresistibly to the grass.

At this he became more desperate, pulling and tugging and yanking and bending over, digging frantically at the earth with his hands, but he still couldn’t lift his feet, and he heard another noise now, a whispery breathing, getting louder, enveloping him …

“No!” he screamed. “No! Obi-Wan, help me — please —”

And the Jedi was looking up, he was starting to hurry across the field, but he wasn’t moving quickly enough and the observer was sinking, they were all sinking and the breathing was getting louder —

He awoke with a start, his breath noisy in his ears, heart pounding, racing.

Another dream. Another dratted dream.

Sometimes he wished he could simply switch off his brain during the short naps that now passed for sleep. That way he wouldn’t dream, wouldn’t see the versions of the past or present that couldn’t ever be.

Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan! His panicked cries resounded in his mind.

No. Obi-Wan, Kenobi, was dead to him now.

But the children — oh, if the children were still alive, what a marvelous opportunity that would present!

He was interrupted in his musings by the swishing of the door. “Lord Vader?” said a reedy voice behind him.

Vader resisted the impulse to sigh. “Captain Ozzel, I specifically requested not to be disturbed. What is the meaning of this?”

The man’s fear spiked exponentially and Vader felt a pulse of excitement. Really, Imperial officials were becoming far too easy to intimidate these days. It was almost childishly simple to have them groveling and sniveling at his feet, and to siphon their fear off of them to feed the Dark Side of the Force.

“M-m-m-my Lord,” Ozzel stammered as the Sith turned to face him. “I-I’m so terribly sorry but — but there is news, my Lord, news of — of the project.”

Vader did not miss the emphasis placed upon that word. “Oh?”

“Well — well, as you know, the body in Senator Amidala’s crypt was recently discovered to be an elaborate model,” the officer rushed on. “The questioning of her family yielded little usable information, and the search conducted of the Naberrie resort turned up no clues — except for this.” He handed over a small data reader.

Vader flicked it on and stared, disbelief stunning him into near silence. “You are sure this is not some elaborate forgery?”

“Yes, my Lord. The data signatures have been put through extensive testing, and they check out.”

The Sith had to work to keep his hand from trembling. “When was this holopicture taken?”

“Based on rates of data decay, we estimate approximately four years previous to the current date, Lord Vader,” Ozzel replied almost eagerly.

“I see. And there are presumed to be no other indicators of their whereabouts?”

The smile slid immediately off the official’s face. “N-no, my Lord.”

“Very well,” Vader murmured, his mind racing ahead. “Instruct your experts to access all files on Senator Padmé Amidala. Pay specific attention to friends and associates, no matter how small or insignificant. Send envoys to each being listed or to their associates if they are no longer alive. Question them. Use force if necessary. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Lord Vader.” Ozzel was already backing toward the door.

“And Captain?”

“Y-yes?”

“No one is to know of your activities, not even the Emperor. If questions are asked, explain that you are conducting a routine security investigation and refer all further inquiries to myself. Is that quite clear?”

“It is, my Lord.”

Vader did not look up as Captain Ozzel practically ran from the room. The Sith’s attention had refocused upon the data reader in front of him, on the single holopic saved to it.

Senator Padmé Amidala — and he had no reason to doubt her identity — stood on a balcony, the rail beside her adorned with flowers, wearing a long white dress and a beaded veil covering her hair. She looked radiant, a wide smile on her face, a faint blush colouring her cheeks.

Her arms were locked tenderly, protectively, lovingly, around Obi-Wan Kenobi.

And he was returning the gesture, bending down, apparently about to kiss her. He too looked utterly content, happy, in love.

Vader’s lip curled in disgust. Obviously the couple had been at Varykino, which rankled — that was his place to share with Padmé. Well, Anakin Skywalker’s place, at any rate, but the point was that it had never been Kenobi’s to possess. Anakin had kissed Padmé on the balcony. Anakin had picnicked with her in the fields and he had rolled with her in the grass. He had taken supper with her in the grand dining room. And by the fireplace afterwards, he had tried to convince her that they belonged together, that they had been destined for one another since meeting as children in Watto’s shop.

But Kenobi had gotten there first. As he almost always did. And he’d done it without speaking to Padmé face to face, without seeing her. Somehow he’d wormed his way into her heart, and in typical Kenobi fashion, had been entirely unaware of it until confronted with the evidence. Why had it been so easy for him to snare Padmé without even saying a single word to her, while Anakin had begged, pleaded, cajoled — and still been rejected.

It just wasn’t fair.

And now Vader held no illusions about what this holopic meant. They had married. Somehow she had convinced him to make that commitment to her, over and above the requirements of the Jedi Code. Perhaps the children had something to do with this, if they had survived their birth.

If that were true, they would soon be Vader’s. It was only a matter of time. Padmé and Kenobi could not hide them forever.

And Padmé herself — oh, she would be Vader’s too. Not to love, since he had given up on that long ago, but rather to suffer, to be hurt as she had hurt him. Vader knew that the best way to cause Padmé pain would be to wound Kenobi and the children, and in the process he could exact his revenge upon his former Master and mold the twins into perfect apprentices, Sith Lords in their own right. Then when the children were ready, Vader mused, Palpatine would suddenly find himself minus an Empire. Of course, he would also be dead, which would effectively negate his need for an Empire anyway. Vader could not take on Sidious alone, but it would be possible — just possible — if he had the help of two able-bodied youngsters.

But first, he needed to find them. And he would. No matter what it took.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Moments of Peace and Remembrance

“That’s not the way Mommy does it,” Leia told her father imperiously.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh as he set down the shampoo bottle. “How does she do it?”

“We need cloths over our eyes, an’ she doesn’t put the shampoo in her hands first. And don’t get water in our eyes. Right, Luke?”

“Yeah!” He nodded vehemently.

“Right, just a minute,” Obi-Wan said, standing from where he’d knelt by the bathtub and grabbing two washcloths from the towel rack.

He hadn’t exactly expected this when he’d told an exhausted Padmé to go to bed early, that he would get the twins their baths and put them to bed, but he supposed he should have. Leia had already proven very strict about the water temperature, which pajamas she and her brother should wear, and that their arms and legs were to be washed first. Luke largely went along with these demands, and Obi-Wan had decided that as long as Leia was polite in voicing them, it would be pointless to impose his own will. He was tired too, after all.

The twins pressed the proffered cloths over their eyes as their father gently scrubbed the suds into their hair. This was more difficult than it sounded, as both Luke and Leia continually moved their heads around so as to keep the drips from even falling onto the cloths.

“Luke, put your head back, I’m going to rinse,” Obi-Wan directed, and his son obediently tilted his head back for water to be poured over the soap bubbles.

“Hey, how come he gets to go first?” Leia exclaimed.

This time her father did sigh. “Because you were first last time,” he guessed, and fortunately she sat back in apparent satisfaction.

Carefully he dried Luke’s hair so the water wouldn’t run down his face, and started on his daughter’s curls. He had almost finished when suddenly she howled, tugging the cloth from her eyes and scrubbing furiously.

“You got soap in my eye!” squalled the girl, glaring through sudden tears.

“I’m sorry, little one,” Obi-Wan said immediately, handing her a fresh towel. “Here, why don’t you get out, start to dry off …”

She did, but continued to glare angrily throughout and as soon as she was in her sleep clothes, Leia darted out of the room and down the hall, shouting over her shoulder, “I’m going to find my mommy!”

Obi-Wan sighed once more — it was turning out to be that sort of an evening — and turned back to his son, who was still sitting in the now-draining tub. “Well, come on then, unless you think I’ve done something wrong too?”

Luke giggled. “She’s just silly,” he grinned as he got clumsily to his feet; the bath was slippery.

“Yes, sometimes she can be,” Obi-Wan agreed, wrapping a large thick towel around the boy as he stood shivering on the bathmat. “But Leia is very opinionated. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“What’s ‘opinernated’?” Luke asked, furrowing his brow.

“Opinionated,” Obi-Wan corrected absently. “It means a person who knows what they want, and speaks up in order to get it. Your sister is very much like that.”

“I guess.” The child still looked a little confused as his father handed him his pajamas. “Don’t worry, Daddy. She’ll be okay.”

Obi-Wan shook his head wonderingly at Luke’s tone of voice, which had almost sounded … adult. He knew that his son was in all probability speaking of a feeling he had got through his bond, but every so often Obi-Wan still resented that Luke should even be able to feel things like that. He had the Force, obviously, but at this young age he wouldn’t know how to use it to get an exact sense of emotions. But with a bond …

“I know,” he told Luke. “I just didn’t want her to wake your mother. Mom needs all the rest she can get at the moment.”

“She was awake already,” Luke shrugged.

Obi-Wan dried his son’s hair once again. “Is she all right?”

A test. He knew, of course — he’d be able to sense a danger to Padmé even from across the galaxy — but he was curious about Luke’s abilities.

“Yup. She just woke up.”

Correct, of course. “Brush your teeth and use the fresher, please. I’ll be in to say goodnight in a moment.”

“’Kay!” floated out behind him as Obi-Wan then headed down the hall.

He met a grumpy Leia on the way to his bedroom, and she complained that Padmé had barely acknowledged her before falling back asleep. He was able to deflect her concerns quickly enough, and soon both children were tucked securely in their beds.

It really is surprising, Obi-Wan thought as he cuddled his son to help him go to sleep, that children are so adaptable. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, since he’d seen so much over the last four years as a parent, but he was nonetheless. Even with the family’s abrupt move to Chandrila, the twins had adjusted very well, being only slightly more tearful and clingy at first. They still stuck close to their parents and were unwilling to venture too far from Obi-Wan or Padmé, but otherwise they acted completely normal. Luke and Leia applied themselves to their training, they laughed and smiled, and they were becoming great friends with Lily, to the latter’s pleasure. Perhaps at least some of that had to do with the fact that Mon’s residence was similar in size to Varykino, but Obi-Wan knew it couldn’t all be that. It had come as a pleasant surprise, however.

Nevertheless, he also understood that it could not last: soon they would have to move on again, perhaps shortly after the birth of the new baby, and when they did, it would likely be to Tatooine and far more pedestrian living arrangements. Obi-Wan did not relish that prospect, not only for the memories the planet held for both himself and Padmé, but also for the challenges raising three children there would present. He was up to it, and he was sure Padmé would be as well, but the twins … they shouldn’t have to live that way. The family should still be on Naboo, and Luke and Leia should be running in the fields and learning to ride shaaks and —

“Daddy?” Luke’s fingers sought his father’s, holding them softly.

“What is it, little one?”

“Don’t center on your fears.”

Obi-Wan sighed, again amazed that the boy had managed to conjure that lesson to apply in this particular moment. Not centering on one’s fears was one of the first maxims Jedi younglings were taught, and it would continue to be important throughout the lifetime of any Knight and Master. Young as he was, Luke remembered the saying and knew enough to apply it in this instance. Remarkable.

“It’s all right, son,” Obi-Wan murmured, stroking the boy’s hair. “Don’t worry about me, or your mother. I promise you, we will both be fine.”

The corners of Luke’s mouth turned up slightly, but he wasn’t able to manage much more than a tiny smile, as tired as he was. Obi-Wan was glad, for he didn’t feel at all ready to discuss some of the feelings that were probably evident through the bond. In any case, Luke soon fell asleep, and his father eased him gently into bed, kissed him and Leia goodnight, and headed for his own bedroom.

He tried to put all thoughts of the twins and leaving Chandrila out of his mind as he undressed for bed, reasoning that as there was little he could do about it right at the moment, he ought not to dwell on it. Luke had been quite correct when he reminded his father that fears shouldn’t be centred upon.

Padmé stirred as her husband climbed into bed, and he took a brief moment to rest his hand over her abdomen before settling back. He’d never really given himself permission to think about the baby, not since Padmé had conceived. For the first few months the child’s very existence had been in such doubt that Obi-Wan could focus only on his wife; on her health and survival. But now, since it seemed that perhaps, just perhaps, matters might be all right, he allowed his thoughts to venture to his child.

What would he or she be like? Quiet like Luke, boisterous but obedient like Leia, or with a healthy combination of the two? Or a personality all his or her own? Would the baby inherit the bond? How would he or she get along with the twins? What would she look like? Would he have his father’s blue eyes? Padmé’s smile? Obi-Wan had seen how the twins could represent the best qualities of himself and Padmé — as well as some of the worst — and he wondered how those qualities would recombine in a new being. He knew that despite all the uncertainty, he had already bonded with the baby, even without his knowledge or consent, and Obi-Wan wondered what the bond would tell him about the child when he or she was born.

Padmé suddenly cried out, startling him from his imaginings, and he placed a soft hand on her shoulder. “Darling?”

“No!” she exclaimed, apparently still asleep. “No, please — please don’t, you’re hurting him — stop!”

“Padmé, it’s all right, you’re dreaming,” Obi-Wan whispered, shaking her shoulder.

But she couldn’t seem to wake up, and kept thrashing, crying, tears trickling down her cheeks as she begged the nightmare to cease. Obi-Wan was weighing the possibility of employing the Force to wake her when suddenly she jerked one last time, jerked and opened her eyes with a scream.

He held her immediately, turning her to face him, pressing her cheek against his bare chest. He could feel the moisture of her tears, and her shoulders shaking.

“Shhh,” Obi-Wan soothed. “Shhh, you’re all right. It was only a dream.” He tried to remember what she had told him years ago, what had comforted him most, when his own nightmares were far more prevalent.

“Obi-Wan, are you okay?” she finally choked out.

“Yes, of course.” He felt confused, but didn’t yet want to reach through the Force. “I’m fine, and so are the twins. Just relax.”

“I can’t — can’t —” She gasped and broke into fresh shudders. “You — you and she — I saw —”

She? Obi-Wan blinked, puzzled. “Shhh, you don’t have to talk about it. Rest.”

“Ventress!” Padmé burst out, and he could taste her terror now; the Force was pungent with it in the small room. “What she did — I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about it, I don’t want to hurt you —”

“Don’t worry about it, please.” He sent soothing waves of calm towards her, wrapped around her much as his arms were. “If you need to talk about the dream, talk. You never stopped me before, did you?”

That at least got a small laugh. “No, but — Obi-Wan, you were tortured …”

“Much of which I do not remember,” he cut in smoothly. “Darling, my recollection includes only the battle of Jabiim, the explosion, and then waking up in the Halls of Healing with you beside my bed.” (This was an exaggeration, naturally, but he needed her to calm herself.) “And even if I did recall the other events, we could still talk about it. We’ve talked about what happened with Anakin, and Qui-Gon.”

Padmé drew a shaky breath. “I know. I know, but — this is different, I saw — I don’t know how —”

“What did you see?”

“What Ventress did …” She pressed, if possible, even closer. “The mask … you were screaming … and the burns, the iron, the insects — I just had no idea … and then when Ani found you …”

Dim flashes assailed him, half-forgotten sensations and images and memory. Lying prone on the floor, curled up to protect as much of his body as he could … the humiliating moment when she ordered him to strip, to stand naked in front of her … the whippings, sometimes morning to night, until he all but drowned in his own blood. He’d screamed for Padmé, for Anakin, for anyone, and when none of them appeared to help him he resorted to reaching for Padmé, for his memory of her, through the bond.

Even when Ventress placed the Sith mask over his face, the mask that would sever his connection to the Force, he imagined that Padmé was with him. It had been the only way he got through some of the days. His cell was dark, damp and cold, the food often moldy and riddled with insects and rodent droppings — if indeed he received any nourishment at all — and there were no hygiene facilities. Obi-Wan had tried at first to designate a specific corner of the cell as a latrine for himself and the clone Alpha, with whom he’d been captured. But as the torture began to escalate and Alpha was separated from his general, Obi-Wan cared less about maintaining cleanliness and decency and much more about simple, day-to-day survival. Eventually he was so wounded that he could not bear to move about, and simply lay on the freezing floor hour after hour, trying to recover.

Ventress’s next trick was to chain him to the wall, manacles on his ankles and wrists, during the times when she was not actively “working” with him (as she called it). He stood for hours on end, the chains cutting into his arms whenever he sagged in relaxation. He no longer cared about how he looked, how his own blood and dirt were caked on his wounds and how those wounds became infected, how there was no refuge from fatigue, not even in the Force. Yet Ventress punished him more for any physical weakness he demonstrated in front of her. For each scream, she would whip him twenty times, and twenty more if he yelled again at any point during this “punishment.” When he let go in front of her one day, she insisted that the guard take the waste and rub it into the open sores, so as to allow for complete humiliation of the Jedi. That was when she had force-fed him the insects, too, telling him that since he had dared to soil himself in her presence, the insects would sanitize him. Of course, they did this by slowly devouring his internal organs, but this, to Ventress, was an acceptable way to advance her aims. He had writhed in his chains for hours after, until she finally provided the remedy. She had stopped short of the point at which any permanent damage would be done, but oh, he had wanted to die. Had wanted to die to spare himself further anguish, which was bound to be forthcoming.

And in the end, understanding that no one would come for him, he used his last remaining shreds of power to mind-trick the guard, escaping the cell and stumbling about the jungle, Alpha at his side, until a familiar voice had shouted from the trees …

Yes, Obi-Wan remembered rather a lot.

“I’m sorry,” Padmé whispered.

He realized that he was now clutching her tightly, momentarily lost in the cascade of memories. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“You do remember, don’t you,” she murmured.

“A bit.” He didn’t want to let on just how much. “But it wasn’t even the physical discomfort or the loss of the Force, which was awful but not the worst. The worst was waking in the Temple and realizing that I hardly knew myself anymore, that I could barely recall conventions of behaviour … speaking, enjoying a meal, relating to others, everything that divides the civilized from those who are not.”

“But you learned again,” Padmé reminded him. “I helped you, Anakin helped you, and that’s what’s important.”

He nodded. “I’m just sorry you had to dream about it.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know why I did, and I don’t know why I reacted like that. Just seeing you that way, I suppose … it was troubling.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said.

“But we don’t have to talk about it.” Her hand came up to caress his face. “I’m fine and you’re fine. Right?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” He pressed a kiss into her hair.

“I am now,” Padmé replied. “I just needed to be near to you, that’s all. I think — ouch!”

“What is it?” Obi-Wan was instantly alert.

She laughed. “Nothing. The baby’s kicking, that’s all.”

“He wants us to talk about nicer things,” nodded her husband. “Don’t you, little one,” Obi-Wan addressed her belly.

“Maybe he just thinks I should get up so he can keep using my bladder as a bouncing platform.” Padmé rolled her eyes, repositioning herself in the bed. “And he is a she, by the way. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh? Did the Force bestow its powers upon you when I wasn’t looking?”

“Hardly. I’m just a mother. I know.” Inch by inch she raised herself to a sitting position. “Besides, I guessed right with the twins.”

He slid out of bed and circled around to her side, understanding what was now required without needing to ask. “Only with Luke. Anakin did the rest. Here, you want the refresher?”

“Yeah.” She extended her hands and Obi-Wan helped her to slide to the side of the bed, putting both his hands under her arms.

“Right — one, two, three.” And he hauled her to her feet, his arms winding around her for a moment as she steadied.

“Goddesses, I’ll be glad when this is done,” Padmé sighed. “I feel like a bantha, and I probably smell like one, too. It’s hard to fit in the shower.”

“I think you look lovely.” Obi-Wan brushed her curls back from her face and kissed her softly. “You always have.”

“Flatterer.” But she responded, nuzzling him lightly and guiding his palm down to feel where a small foot was outlined in her abdomen.

He traced it. “She wants out.”

“She certainly does.” Padmé yawned and disengaged herself, walking to the fresher. “She’ll have to wait just a little longer, though.”

Obi-Wan settled himself back in bed and was nearly asleep when he felt a hand on his back, coming around to the front and tracing a long scar on his stomach, heading further down, following the thin line of hair …

He stilled the motion. “No, Padmé.”

“Drat.” Obi-Wan could practically hear his wife rolling her eyes. “It was worth a try, anyway.”

“I suppose, but we need to wait another few months,” he told her.

“By which time she’ll have arrived, and I won’t be interested.” Padmé sounded disgusted. “I remember after the twins, it was months and months before I even healed.” She exhaled a gusty sigh.

He turned to face her. “Darling, listen to me. I want it as much as you do. You know that. And I love you no matter how you look. But I just couldn’t hurt the baby, or you, again. I want both her and you to be safe.”

“I know.” She tucked her head under his chin, cuddling closer. “I’m tired, and I want this to be over. I want you to stop feeling guilty about the pregnancy, because it’s not your fault. And it’s going to be okay. I’m healthy and she’s healthy.”

“I know, but …” Obi-Wan shook his head, attempting to rid himself of the image of his wife lying in their bed at Varykino, pale as a sheet and terrified that at any moment she might lose their child. He could still remember it, even though the past number of months had been nothing but peaceful.

“But nothing,” Padmé echoed that thought. “Focus on the moment, okay, Master Jedi? Isn’t that what your Code teaches?”

He was about to reply when suddenly she stiffened, rolling abruptly away from him and clenching her teeth. “Goddesses —”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” For the second time in a few minutes he sat bolt upright, alarmed.

“She’s just —” Padmé closed her eyes tightly “— stretching.” She tried to suck in a breath, gasping a little.

“Shhh, it’s all right.” Obi-Wan moved over her, placing his hands firmly on her belly, and sank into the Force with barely a ripple. He could sense the child, feel the baby’s thoughts, and see the tiny form, extended to full length. Carefully Obi-Wan entered the baby’s mind, touching it softly, smoothly.

Padmé relaxed at last, drawing in several deep breaths. “Thank you. What did you do?”

“I merely convinced her that it would be in her best interest to allow her mother to breathe,” Obi-Wan quipped. “Though I will say this for her: she has a very strong mind already.”

“I’m sure she does.” Padmé turned back over, one hand clasped protectively around her husband’s. “I wish you’d been around to do that when I was expecting the twins.”

He felt another pang of guilt, sharp and cutting. “Did they hurt you? Does she, now?”

Padmé considered for a moment. “Not … exactly,” she said finally. “I mean, it’s uncomfortable when they get so big, though not painful. Babies just like to move around a lot, and as they grow, that gets harder. She squirms more than kicks nowadays, at least when she’s a little less active. But sometimes it felt like Luke and Leia were competing to see who could kick me hardest. At least with this baby … well, there’s only one of her.”

Thank the Force, Obi-Wan thought with a shudder. “Are you all right now? No more stretching?”

She laughed. “No, no more stretching. I think she may have gone back to sleep.”

“Well, let’s do the same, then,” Obi-Wan suggested. His wife nodded and closed her eyes, relaxing and breathing deeply again. He squeezed her hand and took a slow, meditative breath. In, out. In, out. Fatigue was beginning to steal over his body … his eyes were closing … he was running with the twins through a Nubian field …

“Obi-Wan?”

Padmé was calling to him … he turned to beckon her over …

“Obi-Wan?”

“Mmm, darling?”

“I — I’m sorry but — I need to use the fresher again.”

His eyes jerked open and he did his best to suppress a small sigh.

It was going to be a long three months.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Satisfaction

Unending though the months seemed to be, the Kenobi family was nevertheless glad for the peaceful days and weeks. The anonymity of their location was comforting to all of them, as was the access to medical care and the warm and capable hospitality provided by Mon. No request was impossible, and all desires were quickly and efficiently taken care of. Through the secure HoloNet link, they were able to obtain the latest news and information — albeit filtered through the bias and censorship of the Empire — as well as to keep abreast of the Emperor’s and Vader’s movements. It would not have been difficult to grow complacent under these sorts of circumstances, and Obi-Wan often had to remind himself that his wife and children could be placed in danger at any moment, and that he needed to be able to react very rapidly in such a case.

Their residence at Chandrila also allowed Padmé to resume a role she had dearly missed since the death of the Republic: that of activist. It all had to be done very covertly, of course, but Mon and Bail had, with the help of loyal consultants on Chandrila and Alderaan, been able to build a secure connection through which they could communicate out of view of both the public and the censors. This was vitally important due to the nature of the organization they were constructing.

Padmé was very impressed with how Bail and Mon had begun to assemble this organization, a group that when fully mature would serve as an effective opposition to Palpatine. They had already made several important, though covert, allies, and were working behind the scenes to build up support and to gather resources. It all had to be done carefully to avoid arousing suspicion, and the two politicians had become adept at that.

It was Padmé, though, who gave the organization its name: the Alliance to Restore the Republic. After all, as she remarked to Mon, what else were they building but an alliance that could one day topple the Empire? Mon had argued at first that this name was too inflammatory, but her friend had had a response for that too.

“There’s no use hiding our goals from prospective allies, so long as we can be sure they will keep our confidences,” Padmé pointed out. “And with your selection process I doubt that will be a problem. A name provides cohesion, tells beings they have something with which they can associate themselves and in which they can believe. This could be crucial to later morale.”

No one could argue with this logic, and so they agreed on such a moniker for the fledgling organization. But they had also accepted that for a long while, this organization would be so in name only. As tyrannical as all involved knew that Palpatine’s Empire was, until it committed a truly unpardonable and public act, recruiting allies for a rebellion would be difficult if not impossible. So they bided their time, focusing instead on gathering resources and on contacting those whom they knew to be loyal to the Republic. Though Padmé could not use her name for these efforts — even Senator Kenobi would have revealed far too much — she was nonetheless an enthusiastic participant in the efforts directed by Bail and Mon. With Dr. Ti-Lek’s approval, Padmé set herself a firm schedule, insisting upon rising early and partaking in Alliance activities and meetings with her colleagues, then caring for Luke and Leia in the afternoon. She was often exhausted by nightfall, leaving her husband to put the twins to bed, but no one seemed to mind this arrangement very much. Though they both loved routine, both children were excited by the novelty of their father bathing them and cuddling them before they fell asleep, and by the time this novelty had worn off, it had become routine in any case.

Obi-Wan, for his part, was glad to see his wife so happy and active, even if it meant that they saw slightly less of each other. She had often told him that the months of lying in bed, either because she was ill or because she needed to preserve the pregnancy, had grated on her nerves like nothing else, and he could believe it. Padmé had always been oriented towards action, towards taking control of her own destiny and those of the people around her, of finding tasks that needed to be completed and then completing them. Surely, spending months on her back or side and needing assistance for even such small things as getting to the fresher had driven her crazy.

But he was glad for another reason too: she was so tired each night that she tended to collapse immediately into bed, hardly stopping to give him a kiss goodnight, and this meant that she couldn’t ask for other things, things he desperately wanted but knew he couldn’t possibly give her. Previously, Padmé had grown increasingly insistent about intimacy, and while Obi-Wan knew it was partially her hormones driving this increased interest — she’d been the same way, if not more so, with the twins — he was so concerned about hurting the baby somehow that he couldn’t bring himself to respond emotionally, even though his body was very clearly motivated. Inevitably he would invent some sort of excuse, and while they both knew the real reason for his refusal, he had begun to sense that she was hurt by his rejections.

Despite this, Obi-Wan could not bring himself to acquiesce to what she wanted. Every time he thought about doing so, an image popped up in his mind’s eye of his wife lying in bed, pale as the sheets underneath her, trembling in his arms as she sobbed and begged her goddesses, the Force, him, to let her keep the baby. And while it was true that the risk of miscarriage had long since passed, given what troubles the child’s conception had caused, Obi-Wan did not want to create more by possibly making Padmé deliver their baby earlier than was the norm. He could almost hear Yoda in his mind as the Grand Master preached the values of patience he had taught Obi-Wan as a child: “Begin in their own time do all things, young Kenobi … and end.”

No, he was not willing to make that sacrifice. But it was growing increasingly difficult to resist as Padmé passed her seventh month with flying colours. She was now halfway through her eighth, and he could tell that she, at least, had relaxed.

***

A hand on his chest, a pause, small tickling sensations as that hand drifted …

He was ready, he wanted this, he had waited for so long. Obi-Wan arched into her skin, an almost obscene moan slipping from his lips. She was caressing his thigh now, the tiny hairs standing to acknowledge the approach of those fingers, and he wanted her to go higher … just a little higher … he was so close … a single touch would bring him to climax, he was certain of it. But she was determined to tease, and she bypassed that area entirely in favour of his navel, drawing soft circles around it until he was practically sobbing with arousal, on the point of begging … what did he have to do to get her to focus?

And finally — finally — exquisitely — she reached his length and it was her mouth that did the rest of the work, her tongue licking up the shaft, one of her hands holding his thigh down to prevent him from thrusting. So all he could do was wait, wait and let her proceed at her own pace … right now, that pace was maddeningly slow …

He grunted, still half in the throes of a wonderful dream, his breathing rapid and loud, sweat beginning to bead his brow. Oh, he didn’t care about the source of the feelings; he just wanted them to continue, and never stop … he needed this so much …

Someone had begun to hum softly, and it sounded like her voice … mmm, yes, definitely her voice. He just wanted her mouth again, hot and moist as it had been, her lips wrapped around him — oh, he would definitely arrive if he could see that — so perhaps he ought to open his eyes …?

Lazily Obi-Wan cracked first one eyelid open and then the other. As he’d expected, she was hovering deliciously over him, beginning to sink lower …

Ah.

“You know,” he remarked conversationally, “you were almost successful that time. Sneaking up while I was sleeping, now, that’s quite creative. I’ll give you full points for the effort.”

There was a delicious moment during which she simply gaped at him, frozen with surprise, before gravity took over and Padmé began to topple sideways onto the bed. Obi-Wan effortlessly caught her, lowering her slowly to the sheets, and still she didn’t betray any further reaction.

“Really, if you wanted to surprise me you couldn’t have picked a more ideal time,” he continued as though nothing at all had happened. (Not entirely accurate; he continued to ache for his wife’s touch, but now he was awake he also knew he could master himself — albeit with difficulty.) “Everyone lets down their guard when they sleep, and the way I am in the morning … well …” Here Obi-Wan blushed a little, unable to actually articulate it out loud.

Padmé suddenly rolled her eyes, an angry huff of breath escaping her. “You — you — you Jedi!” she blurted at last, as though it was the worst insult she could conjure.

“Us Jedi what?” He eased himself back down onto the bed, carefully so as not to create unnecessary friction against certain areas. At the moment, it wouldn’t be a good thing.

“Can’t you just turn off your senses for a minute? You were sleeping!” Padmé exclaimed, as though accusing her husband of an unspeakable crime.

“I was until you decided to wake me up, darling,” Obi-Wan nodded equitably.

“That was one of my best plans,” she grumped, giving him a sidelong glance. “I spent weeks on it. I programmed the alarm feature on my datapad so I could be absolutely sure of waking before you did, even before you got up to meditate. I checked five times that you were asleep. And you still figured out what I was doing!”

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to be surprised at the elaborate measures his wife had taken. “So does that mean you’ll give up?” he asked hopefully.

“On the contrary,” Padmé said coolly, flinging aside the covers on her side of the bed. “All it means is that it’s time for me to move on to my next best plan.” She clung on to the night table, trying to lift herself.

“Would you like some help?” Obi-Wan inquired.

“No thank you.” And she stood, eventually, after much rocking backwards and forwards and gripping of the night stand for dear life. Padmé then dressed, slipped her feet into her shoes and made for the door.

“Hang on!” he called as her hand touched the knob. “What about me?”

“What about you?” Padmé arched an eyebrow.

“Well …” He gestured downwards.

She made a crude jerking motion in midair; the intent was clear. “Surely you’re familiar with the concept.”

“But you started this! You should come back and finish it.”

“You were already hard when I woke up, darling,” said Padmé crassly, a smug smile curving her lips. “I just … helped you along. Now you’ll know what it feels like, to want and to constantly be denied.”

Obi-Wan would have protested, but he could sense an undercurrent of humour in her along with the determination, and he therefore knew that she was mostly teasing. He also knew that when she returned, he would more than likely be able to persuade her to “help” him, if not perhaps using the method that both of them wanted. And, all other things being equal, in the grand scheme of things, theirs was not a particularly vexing problem. At least not in comparison to the ones they could be experiencing.

The sheet slid slightly with the rhythm of his breathing, rubbing him intimately, and Obi-Wan sucked in a breath. He hoped she would return soon, even though she hadn’t given him the slightest idea of where she might be going. It was tempting — too tempting — to do exactly as she had suggested, and finish what Padmé had begun, but he knew it would be an empty climax, devoid of meaning. To feel complete, he needed her.

Several minutes passed in silence, and he shifted again, his curiosity and arousal growing at almost an equal rate. Where had she gone? Surely there was nothing wrong? No, Obi-Wan would already have sensed trouble if it were present. And she had said she would return. So where was she?

He tried to control his breathing, to bring to bear the vaunted patience that had always served him so well, but he could tell that this was only going to end one way. Well, best to get it over with, then. Perhaps he could meditate afterwards, so long as Padmé wasn’t planning to spring another of her schemes on him. He would have tried to enter a trance now, but he knew he had no hope of doing the thing properly. He was too distracted.

With a resigned sigh, Obi-Wan dipped his hand below the bedsheets and encircled himself, surprised to find his fingers so sweaty even after a few moments of calm. Neither was it a stretch for him to imagine that she was still there, and that she had him between her lips now, sucking gently, wetly, her eyes never leaving his. With a gasp that shocked him, he arched off the bed, then tightened his grip to thrust, harder than he ever would have if Padmé had been pleasuring him. Oh, this wouldn’t take long, not if he kept at it, the same pace, the same motions, oh …

The Force suddenly shrilled a warning that even his lust-addled brain could not ignore, and he immediately paused, listening, sensing. At first Obi-Wan couldn’t understand the problem; Padmé was coming up the stairs, and he certainly wouldn’t mind her catching him in this state … but she was not alone, Dr. Ti-Lek keeping pace right beside her.

Muttering a rather colourful Alderaanian curse, Obi-Wan very regretfully abandoned his current occupation and leapt out of bed, scrambling to pull on his pants. He nearly stumbled into the night table as the material brushed his erection, and Obi-Wan furiously wiped away the liquid that had collected at his cock’s tip. There just wasn’t time for that now, not until he could be assured of solitude with his wife and could ask her to assist. She owed him that much, after the way she had chosen to awaken him.

He only had time to pull on his inner tunics before the door opened, but that would have to be enough. Padmé marched into the room, as much as a woman eight months pregnant could be said to march, with her physician following in her wake. Obi-Wan lurked near the night table in what he hoped was a polite manner, dangling his arms near his waist in an attempt to hide what he had been doing. It was probably patently obvious to Padmé, but the doctor might remain oblivious.

“So, is there something I can do for you, Senator Kenobi?” Dr. Ti-Lek said courteously.

Padmé tilted her chin towards her husband. “Obi-Wan, why don’t you ask her?”

“Ask her what?” There wasn’t nearly enough blood getting to his brain for him to figure out what she meant.

“You know.” She glared.

“I don’t, actually, darling; I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan replied, more puzzled than ever.

“Fine, then, if you’re going to be so silly about it.” Padmé faced the doctor and smiled. “Dr. Ti-Lek, my last physical examination and holo-imaging session showed that both myself and the baby are in excellent health, correct?”

“Indeed,” nodded the doctor.

“Therefore, I’m permitted to partake in all usual activities, right? Walking, bathing, showering …?”

“Yes, of course. There isn’t anything that currently contraindicates those activities.”

“And sexual intercourse?” Padmé persisted. “Is there anything, anything at all, to contraindicate that?”

Obi-Wan suddenly wished there was a convenient trapdoor in the floor into which he could disappear. It was all well and good for his wife and her doctor to discuss these things, but did they have to do it in front of him? Especially when part of that discussion ostensibly involved him?

Far from being embarrassed, however, Dr. Ti-Lek simply smiled. “Has this been a point of contention between you and Master Kenobi?”

“Constantly,” Padmé said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “He finds me all the more attractive when I’m pregnant, you see, but I wasn’t sure whether the baby would be safe if we attempted it. We’ve been arguing about it for weeks, and he insinuates himself upon me every chance he gets. It’s becoming tiresome fending him off. So I thought I’d best call you in here to settle the dispute for both of us.”

“I see,” the doctor responded, and both women laughed. “Well, I can assure both yourself and Master Kenobi that it poses no danger, not even in your current condition. Obviously if there is any bleeding or pain, stop immediately and let me conduct an examination, but I believe you should be safe to proceed. The child cannot be harmed.”

“Excellent.” Padmé exchanged several other pleasantries with Dr. Ti-Lek, mostly having to do with the overdeveloped libidos of male humans, while Obi-Wan did his best to melt into the wall. Only when he’d heard the bedroom door click safely shut did he round on his wife.

“Padmé!”

“What?” She was now standing innocently in front of her dresser, combing her hair.

“You know very well what! You made it sound as though I’m sort of — of crazed addict, when really it’s you who’s been trying to do those things to me!” Obi-Wan exploded, his cheeks flaming red.

Padmé chuckled softly. “Well, I had to pay you back somehow, didn’t I?”

“Payback?” he repeated faintly. “If anyone is paying anyone back, I should be paying you back! I can barely walk!”

“Yes, you did provide a rather useful visual demonstration for the point I was trying to make,” she agreed, nodding as she looked him up and down. “Thank you.”

“So you woke me up the way you did on purpose!” Obi-Wan accused.

“Oh, darling, stop being so dramatic.” Padmé pulled her hair back into a loose knot. “I’d asked Dr. Ti-Lek if it was safe before, right from the very start of my third trimester, actually. I thought it would be more fun to seduce you, to try and make you lose control. You’re so adorable when you do, you know. I hoped you’d be aroused enough to go to her yourself, or, failing that, that you’d go along with me this morning. Which you almost did.”

He was struck nearly speechless. “You — you mean we abstained for all those months for nothing?”

“I would hardly call it abstinence given the fact that I did, ah, assist you several times, but I suppose if you want to believe that, then yes.”

“You couldn’t have told me? Not once? Not one little, ‘Oh by the way, darling, it’s all right now, the doctor cleared me’? Do you realize what I’ve been going through these past months?” Obi-Wan demanded.

She turned to him with a brilliant smirk. “Says the man who told me just a little while ago that he was capable of going without for long periods of time! I do believe you’re playing the hypocrite, Master Kenobi. And you could always have gone to Dr. Ti-Lek and asked yourself. She would have told you, I’m sure of it.”

He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, unable to believe what she was saying and yet willing to concede that it did make a strange kind of sense. Padmé wouldn’t have initiated all those encounters if there had been the slightest risk to their child involved, especially given her behaviour in the early months of the pregnancy. And it was true, he could have asked the physician, though Obi-Wan thought he’d rather wrestle simultaneously with two rancors than discuss his sex life with a stranger. But she must have known that! How could she not?

Still, there probably wasn’t much point in continuing to berate her. The pregnancy hadn’t been very easy for her, and she must have felt she needed to have some fun. But he could still pretend to be annoyed, and most important of all — he hardened further at the very thought — they could make love once more. He had wanted her, he had been so very desperate, and now, finally, he could have her.

“I,” Obi-Wan began huskily, “am going to make you scream. I am going to make you beg for your release. I’ll torture you as much as you have tortured me.”

Padmé shivered visibly with arousal, her cheeks flushing red. “I’ll do likewise to you, darling. All those months when I tried to seduce you were only preparations. You haven’t truly felt my hands on you, or my mouth wrapped around you … I want your fingers in my hair as you beg for me …”

His head hit the wall again and he squeezed his eyes shut. “All right, stop,” Obi-Wan gasped. “I can’t … if you say one more word I won’t last …”

Padmé crossed the room with a wide smile, her tongue occasionally poking out to lave deliciously at her lips. “My poor Obi-Wan,” she murmured as she reached him, one hand coming up to caress his cheek. “You need release, don’t you?” Her fingers trailed back down, cupping him, seeking the inside of his pants.

“Padmé …” His tone was pleading and at the same time, full of the pure unvarnished want he had felt since awakening.

In one smooth motion she slipped off her light dress, allowing it to slide to the floor, and tugged his pants carefully down. He was hard as durasteel under her touch and the engorged organ promptly sprang free, jutting proudly as he bit his lip and tried to think of something, anything, other than how tight and wet she was going to feel. Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, feeling the skin of her abdomen in contact with his.

“Look at me,” Padmé whispered, her touch on his chin, her tone still soft and alluring. “I want to see you … please let me see you …”

“I’m not going to last,” he warned as she drew closer, grinding slowly against him. “Padmé, I’m not, and it’s not fair for —”

“Shhh.” Her finger against his lips was nearly his undoing. “Don’t talk. Don’t worry. Just let me do this for you.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, tried and failed to take a deep breath, and finally nodded. “Just — p-please …” He stuttered as she grasped him, fumbling again to maintain control, but it was useless, like trying to stuff an ignited lightsaber into a small durasteel box. No matter how he attempted to contain it, his desire kept burning through. “H-hurry. Please.”

“I told you you’d beg,” Padmé said, amused, but he barely heard her. She had come forward, arched upwards and guided him inside her, buried right to the hilt. Obi-Wan gasped open-mouthed against her shoulder.

There was no way to stop it, no way to prevent the climax already coiling within him. He had delayed it for too long, tried to compromise with his body one too many times. And everything added to it — the way her breath tickled his earlobe; her arms wrapping around him in as much of an embrace as she could manage around the girth of her abdomen; milk-full breasts pressing against his chest. Padmé rocked him slowly back into the wall, kissing in a gentle line down to his collarbone, moaning softly as he in turn kneaded her back. Though he had hardly any time, he was going to do his best to bring her along with him.

Except …

“Let go, darling.” That whisper in his ear, so seductive. Her teeth were on his earlobe, tugging gently, and his body abruptly decided that this would be his end.

She held him tighter as it began, drawing his head down to rest on her shoulder as he grunted softly in release, his rapid breath and a moan of her name the only outward indicators of the sensations surging through him. But she knew, and rhythmically clenched and relaxed her muscles, milking him slowly, drawing the pleasure out.

They rested against each other for several minutes afterward, Padmé caressing his back while he simply reveled in their nearness, in the renewed intimacy. Even after four years of marriage, and the events that had come before, Obi-Wan still enjoyed these moments the most — the quiet time he could share with her, skin pressed to skin, her breath and scent all around him. The connection he felt with Padmé, due both to their love and his bond, was probably one of the strongest he had ever experienced, and yet it was different from every other. It did not resemble his bond with Anakin, nor with Qui-Gon, nor even with his children, though those were all equally strong and important in their own way. He knew only that his life would be in no way the same if this woman was not a part of it, and that she had taught him so much more than could have been gleaned from Jedi training. Being a Jedi was central to his existence, even though he was one of only two remaining Light Side practitioners in the galaxy, but Obi-Wan believed he would have been a lesser man, with an incomplete understanding of the universe around him, if not for Padmé. And it had taken him a long while to admit an even more fundamental truth: he needed her. Jedi were not supposed to need anyone or anything, aside from the Force, and he had schooled himself enough to let go of her should a situation arise in which that was necessary. But while she was safe, in these peaceful moments when they could simply be together, Obi-Wan needed Padmé. She was far stronger than he could ever hope or strive to be. All he could ask was that she pass a little of that strength on to him, so that he might somehow absorb it and benefit from it. She had given him infinite strength in the tumultuous year after Mustafar, and to this day he still wasn’t sure how she had coped. But if she had not been his anchor, he knew he would not have survived.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Triggers

“So, am I forgiven?” Padmé said quietly, her lips lifting in a small smile.

It took Obi-Wan a moment to remember what she was talking about, and he leaned down to nuzzle her. “After that? Of course, darling.”

“Ah, so what you’re saying is that you can be easily bought off.” She winked. “That could be useful knowledge.”

“I certainly can after seven months of being denied my wife.”

Padmé chuckled. “I think I’ve finally found out your secret, Master Kenobi.”

“Have you, Senator Kenobi?”

They both grinned, and she came forward to kiss him, their touches languid and slow. He would have been content to stay that way, to enjoy the gentle encounter, but Padmé was already deepening the kisses, her breath beginning to quicken. Sheathed as he still was inside her, Obi-Wan could feel that she was wet, and not just from the remnants of his climax. She wanted him again — quite reasonable given that she’d not yet had a chance to arrive at her own satisfaction.

“Take a bath with me,” Padmé whispered.

“A bath?” Obi-Wan blinked.

“Yes, like we did at Varykino that one time,” she persisted. “Remember, when I convinced you to take shore leave and we went to Naboo and I introduced you to my parents? And then we stayed in the Lake Country and —”

“Ah, yes, I do remember. Wasn’t that also when you conceived the twins?”

She giggled. “Maybe. I suppose it does work, with the timing. But I also think you need hardly be concerned about that particular possibility. Not anymore.”

“I know, I was only teasing,” Obi-Wan smiled.

“So …?” Padmé rocked him back into the wall again, gently but with clear intent. “Please? I told you I haven’t been able to fit into the shower very easily, so this would be the perfect opportunity.”

“Somehow I don’t think getting clean will turn out to be the primary objective of this endeavour,” Obi-Wan pointed out, though he couldn’t resist another smile. “Besides, is a full immersion in water —?”

“Yes, of course it’s safe.” She waved away his concern. “Dr. Ti-Lek said I can continue to take baths until my ninth month, and we’re well outside of that limit at the moment. And the tub is certainly big enough. And —”

“All right, all right.” It was his turn to interrupt. “I can see I haven’t got a leg to stand on in this particular debate, do I, Senator?”

“Quite right.” Padmé flashed him a winning smile and stepped carefully away, allowing him to slide slowly out of her. She had taken his hand and begun to lead him away before it occurred to Obi-Wan to ask another question.

“What about Luke and Leia?”

“Up, and dressed, and probably playing with Lily,” she answered. “I saw to that before I came back here.”

“Another part of your dastardly plan, I assume?”

She winked. “You might say that.”

In the fresher Padmé twisted the knobs to begin filling the tub, adding a small amount of scented bubble bath until white foam was piled up in a corner. Obi-Wan blinked and eyed it suspiciously, turning from where he had been gathering towels from the linen closet.

“What do we need those for?” He gestured to the bubbles.

“To help us relax,” Padmé explained. “At least, that’s what it’s supposed to do. ‘Creates a luscious cloud to nourish your pores and invigorate your senses for complete bodily replenishment,’” she read from the bubble bath’s bottle.

“How in the galaxy is a solution of water, sucrose and livening agent going to do all that?” Obi-Wan wanted to know.

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. But I always use it. At least I do on the rare occasions when I can actually take a bath.”

“I think you’re being conned,” he told her. “There are better ways to spend one’s credits.”

“So you’re saying you’ve never put anything in your bathwater?” Padmé arched an eyebrow.

“Not only that, I’m also not in the habit of using such exorbitant amounts of water for this purpose. It’s very wasteful. And a sonic shower will clean you much more effectively.”

“I thought we said this wasn’t about getting clean.” She chuckled.

“It isn’t, but …” Obi-Wan gave a helpless shrug. “I just can’t see the reasoning behind such a luxury. A useless luxury at that.”

“Oh, of course it’s probably useless, but since I didn’t buy it, I’m not going to worry about that,” Padmé grinned. “It was here when we arrived, and it may as well get used. Unless of course you’re afraid.”

“Why would I be afraid of a few bubbles?”

“I don’t know, you just had such a suspicious look on your face when you asked about them, that’s all.” She giggled. “Like they were going to leap out of the tub and bite you. They’ll do no such thing, I assure you.”

“Well, I know that,” he said crossly. “I just — oh, never mind.”

Padmé laughed again, but she was soon silenced as he crept behind her and pressed her gently into the wall, covering her momentary surprise with a series of kisses. She responded immediately, deepening the embrace and pulling him towards her, moaning softly into his mouth. With a wicked grin of his own, Obi-Wan slid off the light dress she’d put on for the walk down the hall and trailed his fingers down to her breasts, tracing slow circles around each nipple. Her hands were moving in the opposite direction, up, up to his cheeks, tangling in his hair.

“I … I want …” She gasped, biting her lip as he began to massage.

“Yes?” Obi-Wan was quite enjoying himself.

“Your mouth … please …”

“Of course, darling.” And with no more pretence than this he abruptly lowered his head, tongue darting out to follow the movements of his fingers, teasing her until her nipples were stiff under his touch and she was panting, gasping, her head thrown back against the wall.

“Obi-Wan, I — I … oh …” Padmé shuddered, the shaking passing through her body, her breath hitching as she trembled. Her grip tightened and then relaxed and she sighed, radiating satisfaction and contentment.

Obi-Wan blinked, eyeing her with surprise. “Did you just —?”

His wife had the look of a contented Puuri cat. “Mmm, yes. And it was wonderful. Thank you.”

That’s the fastest I’ve brought her to climax in seven years. Obi-Wan mentally congratulated himself. “You’re very welcome, though I barely did anything.”

“It’s easier when you’re pregnant,” she explained. “To become stimulated is … quite simple, sometimes simpler than I’d like. It can be hard to get away from that. And you feel it more deeply. Every sensation is magnified.”

“Is that why you’ve been stalking me?” He arched an eyebrow.

“I would hardly call it stalking,” Padmé replied, sounding almost offended at the notion. “I’ve just tried to — convince you. That’s all.”

“Your definition of convincing is not the same as mine,” Obi-Wan chuckled, shaking his head. Next moment he frowned, having been visited by a sudden and rather unwelcome flashback. He sighed.

She picked up on the change almost instantly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, fine. Come on, we’d better shut off the water or the tub will overflow.”

Padmé twisted the knobs, but she did not stop gazing at him, even as he shed his own clothing and took her arm to help her climb into the bathtub. She lowered herself carefully and opened her arms, ready to receive him, and he slid her forward so that he could sit directly behind her.

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” Padmé asked as she reclined against him. “You looked — sort of far away there for a moment.”

“Remembering something,” Obi-Wan said uncomfortably. “From the rescue, the mission to rescue Palpatine from Grievous’ flagship. Stupid, given whom he turned out to be. We should have left him there to rot. But — but Anakin and I were needing to escape from those bodyguards Grievous used to have, and he cut a hole in the floor so that we dropped through into a tank full of spare fuel —”

“Fuel!” Padmé interrupted with a gasp. “You and Ani were swimming around in fuel? One spark could have killed you both!”

“Well, it was either that or be massacred by the guards, darling,” he pointed out. “In any case, Anakin remarked that we were safe now, I suppose meaning that we were out of the guards’ line of sight, and I told him that his definition of safe wasn’t similar to mine. That’s all.”

She was silent for a long moment, finally murmuring, “If all your rescues were like that, I think it’s better I don’t know the details.”

Privately, Obi-Wan was inclined to agree. “They weren’t; not really. But he did have a tendency to make them more interesting than they needed to be.”

“He certainly did.” Her hand trailed slowly through the water.

“Then again, matters usually became rather complicated when you were involved, as well,” Obi-Wan said mischievously, hoping to deflect the conversation.

It worked. “Whatever in the galaxy are you talking about?” Padmé demanded, whirling to face him and splashing around a fair amount of bathwater in the process.

“Just that after Geonosis, I was going to reprimand a certain apprentice of mine and both he and you insisted that rushing off to rescue me against Master Windu’s orders had been entirely your idea,” he told her.

“Yes, but you were going to die!” she objected. “And all because of your mission to seek out my assassin! I would never have forgiven myself if Ani and I had sat there on Tatooine and done nothing while you were in such danger! Besides, I thought I could bargain with Dooku for your life, that I could negotiate so it wouldn’t come to any bloodshed. I know it didn’t work, but …”

“Ever the politician,” Obi-Wan smiled. “When in doubt, negotiate.”

“Which could also have been your motto during the war,” Padmé pointed out. “Didn’t the HoloNet take to calling you the Negotiator?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t a politician. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, is there?” She arched an eyebrow. “So your attitude and beliefs about politicians haven’t changed despite the fact that you’re currently living in one’s home and you married one?”

“No, not really. You and Mon are simply exceptions to the rule,” Obi-Wan told her.

“And Bail?” asked Padmé pointedly.

“And Bail, too, of course.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re quite insufferable, do you know that?”

“You married me.” He turned her criticism deftly back on her with a wink.

“I suppose I did.” Padmé reached for his hand and brought it to her mouth, gently kissing each finger. “Well, I was in love with you. I am in love with you. That’s my own failing.”

Obi-Wan leaned forward, his lips just grazing her shoulder as he trailed soft kisses up the side of her neck. “Not a failing, darling. Not in any way a failing. My years with you have taught me that if nothing else.”

“Mmm,” she murmured, unable to conjure any other form of expression while he was doing such delicious things, spreading warm prickles under her skin, his calloused fingers massaging her nipples into stiff peaks. She slid back against him, seeking to increase the friction, and delighted in his sharp intake of breath as her buttocks brushed his groin.

“Padmé …” Obi-Wan’s voice was a breathy whisper, and she could feel him hardening.

“What?” Padmé gasped; he’d retaliated, his hand now seeking her clit at the apex of dark curls between her thighs. And oh — oh — there — he’d found it now, but before she could even gasp a request to continue, Obi-Wan slipped a finger inside her. She was wet from the water, wet from arousal, practically dizzy with the sensations coursing through her. Dizzy — yes — the room spun, and she ducked back against his chest, under his chin. “Please … more …”

In answer he captured her lips in a kiss, tender but sensuous, his breathing needy and desperate. Padmé wanted him more for it, and she pressed into his length again, intent clear. To her surprise he withdrew his finger, placing two hands on her shoulders to still her.

“Wait — just —” He swallowed audibly. “I can’t — I can’t hold on much longer, not with you doing that, and I want it longer … better … you with me …”

And she understood, because after seven years of loving him, of being with him like this, Padmé couldn’t imagine not being able to comprehend his feelings. Stroking her husband’s hand reassuringly, she slipped out of his grasp and turned, sliding him with her until they were facing one another with their legs locked. It took only a small motion forward, barely perceptible, until he filled her, and she gasped with sensation.

“Too much?” Obi-Wan panted.

“No … oh goddesses, no … just please, like that …”

Padmé realized she didn’t need anything more, none of the stimulation that they usually provided to one another. They both seemed on edge already, but this was about other things than simply reaching climax. Husband and wife needed each other, right in that moment, after so many months of connecting in ways that were not physical. Blame seemed to have long since been expunged from the deal, and she was not surprised at this — Obi-Wan was not one to hold grudges. Above all he loved her and wanted to be close to her, and he knew that in the end she had only orchestrated the approaches and retreats in order to bring some much-needed levity into a situation where precious little could be found. There was every indication that this paradise, their version of paradise, would soon be disrupted by the baby’s birth and then, the eventual move to Tatooine. They could try to put it off, but in the end, there was no getting away from simple fact. Much as they had done during the war, the only remedy was to snatch small moments of happiness and laughter, both with their children and with each other. And in this at least, they could call themselves experts in a skill honed through bald necessity.

Her orgasm rippled through her first, a litany of sensation that left her repeating his name over and over, once for each wave. Padmé was so lost in it that she barely noticed when Obi-Wan let go, or that he finally felt content enough to do so.

They embraced, satisfied.

***

She still smells of Naboo.

He smiled as that thought occurred to him, incongruous but truthful. When they had still lived at Varykino, Nubian roses had grown wild in the garden by the twins’ room, and Padmé was always bringing in bouquets to use as centerpieces for their table. She would also soak petals in water and rinse her hair with it, meaning that Obi-Wan was almost always surrounded by the scent. Sometimes if he felt particularly playful, he’d pluck a rose from its stem and creep up behind his wife as she worked in the kitchen, twining it deftly into her curls. Padmé adored these interludes and would act surprised nearly every time, though they both knew she wasn’t. And she would wear the rose for the rest of the day, sometimes even reaching up to feel its delicate petals.

Even now, with Nubian roses being far scarcer, Padmé occasionally requested that they be obtained for her, and Mon seemed only too happy to oblige. If he looked over to the counter he could see a bowl of petals soaking there, waiting for when she next rinsed her hair. Obi-Wan had often asked if they should use the water for Leia, too, but there was apparently some complex tradition surrounding the roses, and one of this tradition’s decrees was that a woman be at least thirteen years of age before her mother showed her how to do it. He didn’t pretend to understand why this was the case, and neither did Padmé, but she was adamant that they observe the tradition properly.

Obi-Wan ran a hand softly down her cheek, careful not to wake her. She had fallen asleep against him after several more sessions of lovemaking, and he suspected he had slept too, for a sensation of time having passed hung in the air. He would have been quite content to stay there forever, using the Force to twist the bathtub knobs and add more warm water when the tub got too cold, feeling her sigh slowly and wiggle closer to him. The last time she had done this, the swell of her pregnancy just touched the plasteel side of the tub, and he was quick to slide his hand in between her abdomen and the cool surface so that if the child kicked, no injuries would be sustained. The baby seemed restless in his wife’s womb, disturbed by something … or perhaps this was just a normal reaction to the kind of activities in which her parents had engaged previously. Obi-Wan would have to ask Padmé later.

He leaned his head back against the wall and allowed his eyes to drift shut. Perhaps now was the time to work in the meditation session that he had not completed earlier. The physical part of meditation was clearly out of the question, but the other aspects … those should be easy.

Swiftly Obi-Wan slipped beneath the current of the Force’s first layer, allowing himself to drift with it rather than trying to impose his own will and excise meaning. He would never have admitted it to anyone else, but he particularly enjoyed meditation when Padmé was nearby even though he no longer needed her to serve as his centre. Somehow he could see more clearly, and could discern a wider field of possibilities, when his wife was in the same room or otherwise in close proximity to him. It was why he generally tended to awaken before her and perform his meditations at dawn, when he could be sure that she slept behind him.

Foreboding.

He would have been knocked off his feet by the strength of the warning, had he been standing. The Force rippled and boiled with fear and emotion, a tempest stirred up before an advancing storm. Obi-Wan’s breath caught in his throat as images flashed in his mind’s eye, each more frightening than the last.

A series of swift bangs at a door … a starship lifting off from a spaceport … Luke crying, sobbing, as Obi-Wan wrestled frantically with a locking device, unable to reach his son … and through all of it, most chilling, a malevolently dark figure presided while Padmé screamed, screamed and begged for some unseen torture to cease. The images swirled and resolved themselves again to reveal a cavernous docking bay, in which a squat freighter sat and thousands of clone troops were on guard. A small group of beings, four human and one Wookiee, stood nervously behind a corner, apparently hiding. And far beyond he could hear the distant clash of lightsabers, soft but still discernible.

“Now’s our chance, go!” whispered a man who appeared to be these beings’ leader. He looked rather scruffy, dressed as he was in a dirty vest and ragged set of pants, but as soon as he gave the command, the Wookiee and the other three humans instantly took off toward the freighter.

Two of them, dark-haired women in dresses, ran instantly for the boarding ramp, but their companion, a young man, paused halfway across the docking bay, staring wide-eyed at something beyond Obi-Wan’s field of vision. The boy — for he really couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty years old — looked horrified, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

The younger of the two women turned back and ran to the man, grabbing his arm, cajoling him, clearly attempting to convince him to return to the ship. In response he merely pointed, and Obi-Wan saw the woman’s mouth drop open. She immediately made to run towards the sound of the distant lightsabers, and her brother pulled her back.

“We have to help him! He’ll be killed!” she cried.

“Shon, remember what Dad said. His destiny lies along a different path from ours. We’ve got to get Leia back to the Fleet.”

“I don’t care!” the girl exclaimed. “He didn’t know he was in danger then! You’ve got the bond, Luke, you know!”

The older woman and the group’s leader had begun screaming at the pair, exhorting them in pleading tones to return to the ship. But Luke and his sister seemed rooted to the floor, no longer able to speak, watching the scene in front of them.

“Dad!” Luke yelled suddenly.

“Daddy, no!” bellowed the girl.

But whatever disaster they were trying to prevent materialized anyway, as evidenced by the screams from both. The girl looked about to run off again until she saw that her brother had fallen to his knees, eyes fixed straight ahead. The colour had drained from his face, and he looked as though he might be sick. Blaster fire rained down around them, and the younger sister tried in vain to tug Luke to his feet.

“Luke, we have to go! Come on!”

“I … I … I can’t …” His voice had dropped to a whisper, though Obi-Wan could still perceive it.

“They’re shooting, we have to run! Please!”

“No — he’s gone —”

“Leia needs you!” the younger sister practically screamed in Luke’s ear, and finally that seemed to spur him to action. He got clumsily to his feet and stumbled along after her, apparently barely able to control his own limbs. The ship’s hatch shut with a clang behind them — then another clang — and another —

Obi-Wan’s eyes flew open. Someone was knocking at the door, and judging by the insistence of the tapping, might have been doing so for quite some time. He tried abruptly to gather his wits, simultaneously attempting to hold on to a vision that was rapidly slipping from his mind. Padmé had screamed … Luke too … and someone else, two people he didn’t know, and they were all in danger … Luke had been upset, crushed, devastated … but Obi-Wan couldn’t recall anything more. It was like trying to clutch water.

“Excuse me, hello?” called a small voice from the other side of the door. “Master Kenobi?”

Lily, thought Obi-Wan. But what did she want? Despite the fact that he and Padmé, and their children, had taken up residence in Mon’s house, both Mon and Lily had been very generous about according the Kenobi family its privacy. So if she was bothering them now, something had to be very wrong.

The Force shrilled at him again.

“Yes? What’s the matter, Lily?”

“My mother wants you to come and see her, and to bring Padmé. I’m really sorry to disturb you, but she said it’s very urgent.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. “Are the twins all right?”

“They’re fine,” Lily answered. “It’s something else. I wish I could say more, but — Mom just wants to talk to you. Now.”

“Of course. Tell her we’ll be along in a few moments,” Obi-Wan told her.

The Force was still strangely silent on the exact nature of the threat, and all he could glean from probing Mon’s thoughts was that she felt frightened almost to the point of panic. That alarmed him further, since from what he’d seen since arriving on Chandrila, Mon Mothma was level-headed, capable, and very good in a crisis. Obi-Wan could only surmise that this must have something to do with the Empire, though beyond that he had no idea. And there were more important things to worry about at the moment.

“Darling?” he whispered, gently trying to prod Padmé awake. “Darling, we need to go talk to Mon, something’s happened.”

The only response Obi-Wan received was from the baby, who aimed a hard kick directly at his palm. Wincing, he placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders and tried to turn her over so that he could slide upright in the tub.

This at last caused Padmé to stir. “Stop … ’M sleeping …”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered, supporting her against his body. “But something has happened, and Mon wants us to speak with us. We need to get out and get dressed.”

“Luke …” She tossed her head from side to side, sounding fretful. “Is he … are they …?”

“The twins are fine, I promise you. Now, come on, darling. I need your help.”

Padmé merely moved closer. “Too tired …”

He frowned, slightly puzzled by her response — or lack thereof. The pregnancy had certainly caused her to become more easily fatigued, but Padmé rarely allowed that to deter her. In fact, there had been times when he’d needed to remind her to take her regular afternoon nap, so preoccupied was she with her work on the Alliance. When action needed to be taken, there were few better at planning and execution. Perhaps she was ill …?

Shaking that worrisome thought from his mind, Obi-Wan sighed and tried to prop her up again. “You can have your nap when we’ve talked to Mon, all right? But we need to get out of the tub; we’re going to catch a chill in here.”

It took several more minutes of convincing, but finally he was able to ease Padmé to her feet and onto the bath mat. He handed her a towel and she began listlessly to dry herself, not bothering to stifle the yawns that frequently overtook her. She was slow, too, and Obi-Wan was dry and dressed long before she had even finished toweling herself off.

“I suppose I must really have tired you out,” he joked nervously, wanting to see her smile, hear her laugh. This … exhaustion was frightening.

“I guess you did.” Padmé reached for her dress, dropped it, picked it up and dropped it again. Obi-Wan sighed inwardly and draped the garment over her head, slipping her arms gently into the sleeves.

“Are you feeling all right, darling?” Obi-Wan asked as they made their way down the hall back to the bedroom. “You don’t look so well.”

“I’m just tired,” Padmé said defensively, suddenly seeming to flare to life. “Pregnancy is an exhausting business, Obi-Wan! Although I suppose you wouldn’t know.”

The bite to her tone made him draw back a little. “I’m sorry, I just —”

“I know, you’re nervous,” she interrupted. “You’re always nervous. You keep looking at me like I’m a thermal detonator about to explode. I. Am. Fine.”

Obi-Wan was tempted to roll his eyes, but he knew that would only make her angrier. Besides, he could sense as they drew closer to the bedroom that there was someone inside, and that this person was moving with a great deal of speed and urgency. Furrowing his brow in confusion, he waved a hand at the door sensor and the door slid open automatically.

“Mon!” exclaimed Padmé, momentarily startled out of her annoyance. “What are you doing here?”

Their friend didn’t turn, and they could now see that several pieces of luggage were open on the bed. Mon bustled about, tossing various articles of clothing into them. “Oh, good, Lily gave you the message. I have some rather bad news.”

“Bad news?” Obi-Wan’s stomach lurched.

At last Mon turned, and the fear was evident on her face. “Bail sent me a message just a few moments ago. The Empire is sending an envoy to each of your former associates, Padmé, and the directives governing their visit come from Lord Vader himself.”

“Wh-what? The Empire’s coming here?” Padmé stammered.

“Yes. The envoy will question me as to your exact whereabouts. And I’m afraid I can do nothing to prevent it.”


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

Intrusion

She felt her knees go weak, with fear as well as fatigue, and had Obi-Wan not been supporting her, Padmé knew she would have fallen to the floor. The Empire’s envoy would find them, and surely they would imprison her family … Luke and Leia, as Force-sensitives, would be taken to Vader, and perhaps to Palpatine himself, with her unborn child sharing that fate as soon as he or she arrived … and Obi-Wan — oh, what would they do to her husband? Mon and Lily would be arrested as well, accused of collaborating with the enemy, perhaps even executed … a fate they did not deserve given the kindness they had extended to the Kenobis.

“What are we going to do?” Fear squeezed her voice to barely a whisper.

“I’ve booked you passage on a refugee transport,” replied Mon, not pausing in the packing. “You’ll all travel under assumed names to Alderaan, where Bail and Breha will shelter you until the baby is born. I spoke with him just a few moments ago over our private channel and he has agreed to all of this.”

“How long do we have until the envoy arrives?” Obi-Wan asked sharply. His grip on his wife’s shoulder had tightened considerably. “And you said the Empire is sending them to all of Padmé’s associates — doesn’t that include Bail?”

“It does, but as the refugee transport will take approximately two days to reach the planet, we’re hoping that the envoys will be there and gone by the time you arrive,” Mon explained. “If not, we have a contingency plan. But Bail and I both suspect that the Empire is pursuing this only as a first option. Depending upon the results of the questioning, they will then follow up on the most reliable leads. The most important thing is that you are not physically present in this residence or on the planet when the official comes to speak to me. We have a much greater chance of keeping our cover intact that way.”

“But it’s still dangerous!” Padmé whispered. “If any sign of our presence remains — if they discover you’ve been hiding us — they’ll kill you!”

Mon smiled. “Well, that’s why we’re going to make very sure that they remain none the wiser. Resisting the interrogation isn’t what concerns me, Padmé. What concerns me is that you and Obi-Wan and the children remain safe. I would give my life for that, and I would do so without any regrets.”

What did we do to deserve such wonderful friends? Padmé wondered, feeling her eyes fill with tears. The fear was still there, ever-present, gnawing at her, but her heart swelled in gratitude, and she asked herself again how Mon could possibly give so freely of herself in order to defend those close to her, and their cause.

“Will the envoy arrive before our ship departs?” Obi-Wan asked again. “Your plan is well-conceived, but there is great risk. For suspicion to be removed entirely from you, no trace of us must remain. How much time?”

“Three hours,” Mon said. At the look on the Jedi’s face, she added quickly, “I know, I’m not very pleased with it either, but unfortunately that was all the lead time we had. Bail didn’t even receive notice of the envoy’s visit until an hour ago, and he immediately contacted me. I had to call in a few favours to secure you a booking with no questions asked so quickly.”

“But that appears to indicate that the Empire is hoping to catch you off-balance,” Obi-Wan pointed out, guiding Padmé to a chair in the corner of the bedroom. “If they haven’t notified you that they’re going to visit, it seems clear that they have good reason to suspect you may be harbouring fugitives. I can sense hostile intent in the Force, but that will provide us with moments only. How do you know we have three hours?”

Mon zipped a suitcase and heaved it to the floor. “I’m getting to that. Barely a moment after I’d made the booking, the envoy did contact me and said he’d be docking in three hours. I agree with you that they might suspect something, but if they do, that’s hardly within our power to control. We’re simply going to have to move as quickly as we can and hope he doesn’t show up before that time.”

“Hope,” muttered Obi-Wan. “Frankly, I’d prefer to stake something as important as our lives on better evidence.”

“As would I, but that’s all we have,” Mon said firmly. “Now, I suggest we leave behind the worry that it won’t be enough, and focus instead on making sure that it is. We have one hour to prepare and to erase all evidence of your presence here, and another hour to get you to the spaceport and on the ship. Let’s use that time wisely.”

Padmé gripped the arms of the chair, trying to push up despite the numbing exhaustion that had claimed her again. “I’ll get Luke and Leia ready.”

“No, darling, you will not,” Obi-Wan interjected, this time escorting her to the bed. “You take a nap, and I’ll help the twins.”

She continued to protest, even as a huge yawn threatened to escape. “Obi-Wan, no, it’s far too much work and you only have an hour —”

“I also have help,” he pointed out. “Your only priority should be to rest, Padmé. You’ll need all your strength.”

“I —”

But he’d already flipped aside the covers and guided her to sit down, and that bed did look awfully inviting … surely it would be all right to lie down for a moment … yes, just a moment, and then she would get back up and help Obi-Wan whether he wanted it or not. It wasn’t fair that all the work should fall to him simply because she was pregnant … no, certainly not …

And so firm was this thought in her mind, so absolute the plan, that Padmé barely noticed as her husband draped the blankets over her and kissed her cheek.

Barely a moment later, she was asleep.

***

“Daddy, why do we have to go?”

“I told you, Luke; there is someone coming to visit Mon who cannot know that we’re here, and we need to be on the starship before they arrive. Now, I need to wake your mother.”

“But Daddy, why? I like it here!”

“I know, son. So do I. But this person would want to do very bad things to us and to Mon if they knew we were living with her. They might even separate us, force us to live in very small, very dark rooms where we couldn’t see or hear each other. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“But can’t we just hide? Like when Leia an’ I play hide and seek. Maybe the bad man couldn’t find us then!”

“No, I think he would.”

A sniffle. “It’s not fair.”

“It isn’t, little one. But life isn’t fair.”

“I wanna stay with Lily. And I don’t wanna go on a ship.” This was stated vehemently, even more so than the questions and protests.

It caught Obi-Wan’s attention. “Why not, Luke?”

A hesitation. “I … I gotta bad feeling.”

“Yes, I know. But we don’t have a choice.”

“Daddy, I wanna stay!”

“We can’t, Luke. I’m sorry.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Luke sniffled, and Padmé could tell even though the dense fog of sleep that her son had begun to cry. She had no idea why he was suddenly so scared — usually the twins had gone along with all the changes and moves, from one planet to another, with little fuss or complaint. Perhaps it was different now that they were getting a little older? They had Lily here too, and Luke might be reluctant to leave her due to the bond. But it was an unfortunate fact of their lives now that they would occasionally be forced to exchange one planet and life for another, usually due to an outside circumstance over which no one, aside from the Empire, had any control. He would understand when he was older, but until then, they would sometimes have to uproot him without his or his sister’s consent. If only it could be otherwise.

These thoughts crawled slowly through Padmé’s mind, and Obi-Wan was already shaking her shoulder before she had finished processing them.

“Darling? Darling, I’m sorry, but it’s time to get up.”

No … the bed was so comfortable, so warm … she couldn’t … surely her husband would give her just a little more time … he said she needed the rest, after all.

“Padmé, I’ve given you an extra fifteen minutes. We’ve really got to leave now.”

“No,” she groaned.

“We don’t have a choice, I’m sorry,” he told her.

“I can’t,” Padmé whispered as a new feeling quite suddenly asserted itself. Bile had crept up her throat so fiercely that for a moment she was afraid she might vomit right in bed, and she had to swallow very hard. “Obi-Wan … I don’t … I can’t …”

“Yes, you can.” Her husband was unrelenting. “We’re in danger here. We’ve got to get to the ship.”

“No —”

Abruptly she shifted, and Padmé realized he was boosting her up, trying to pull her to a sitting position. She let herself go limp, allowing him to cradle her in his arms, hoping his touch would relieve her churning stomach.

“Come on, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said softly, the sound of his voice provided comfort too. “We’re in danger here, we can’t stay. And Luke and Leia need you. The twins need you, darling. And so do I.”

His tone had grown pleading, and she realized suddenly that she might be scaring him. But she couldn’t actually tell him what was wrong, since she knew he would become more frightened and might even insist that they waste additional time — time they did not have — on attempting to discover the cause of her current difficulties.

We can’t, Padmé thought. No matter what, the most important thing is that we get on that ship and that the twins and the baby are safe.

So with tremendous effort she opened her eyes, resisting the urge to shut them immediately as the sunlight of a bright afternoon hit her. Slowly Padmé pushed herself upright, away from her husband’s arms, and swallowed again as she turned to face him. Instead of the relieved smile she’d expected, his frown had deepened.

“I think I’ll get Dr. Ti-Lek,” Obi-Wan said nervously.

Padmé caught his wrist. “No. Darling, you said it yourself, we don’t have time for that now. We’re already behind schedule. And I’ll be fine. I promise you.”

“You don’t look fine, Padmé,” he countered. “In fact, you look worse than you did an hour ago. I really don’t like this.”

“That doesn’t matter.” She swallowed hard as her stomach lurched again. “We really have to get going. Here, help me put on my shoes.”

Obi-Wan did so, but he didn’t stop gazing at her, his blue eyes turbulent. This continued as the couple made their way into the hall and toward the stairs, when a troubling new symptom of the bizarre illness made itself suddenly known to Padmé.

She halted in the midst of gripping the railing. “Um, I’ll be right back.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “Where are you going? The twins are already downstairs.”

“I know, but — I just need to use the fresher.”

“Darling, it won’t be very long until we’re on the ship; can’t that wait?”

A closed door was the only answer Obi-Wan received.

By the time Padmé felt she could comfortably leave the toilet, fifteen precious minutes had elapsed, and everyone was growing nervous about the impending arrival of the Imperial official. The communiqué had said three hours, but suppose he decided to turn up early in the hopes of surprising Mon? There had already been too many delays, and both she and Obi-Wan felt that they were flirting with disaster. The excess tension in the air transmitted easily to the twins, particularly Luke, who had been sobbing for the last ten minutes. Obi-Wan wished he had the time to adequately help his son, but his concern was firmly rooted elsewhere.

The object of that concern made her way tentatively down the back steps, one arm clutching her expansive belly, her objective the rented speeder hovering above the grass just a short distance away. Padmé seemed to be turning faintly green, though it was difficult to tell since she was so pale to begin with. At the bottom stair she stumbled, nearly falling, and he hurried to offer assistance.

“Darling —” Obi-Wan began.

“Don’t. Say. It,” Padmé whispered through clenched teeth. Her grip on his arm was viselike. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look …” But he trailed off as once again she jerked to a halt, swallowed convulsively several times and without further ceremony, leaned over and was violently sick. Obi-Wan quickly dropped to his knees and helped her down, pulling her to his side and brushing her hair back from her face.

“That does it, I’m getting the doctor,” Mon decided, and she marched back to her home from her post by the speeder. Padmé waved her hand frantically, but her friend did not relent. “Padmé, you look like death, you’re sweating like a shaak and you narrowly missed dousing my diecro bushes with your breakfast. I’d say something is wrong, however much you might attempt to deny it.”

And with that, she disappeared inside.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, I’m so sorry,” Padmé murmured. “We’re — we’re going to be — caught, and it’s — it’s all my — fault …”

“Shhh,” he soothed, kissing the top of her head gently. “Just don’t think about it right now. The most important thing is getting you better.”

“I won’t sacrifice you and the twins!” she cried.

“You won’t need to. We’ll leave safely, I promise.”

“How? Look, if Dr. Ti-Lek says I’m not well enough to travel —” She retched again, and Obi-Wan tried to send her soothing waves through the Force. “If she says I’m not well enough to travel, you go on without me. Take Luke and Leia — take them to Alderaan, make sure they’re safe —”

“Absolutely not,” Obi-Wan interrupted instantly. “Either we all go, or we all stay. I won’t sacrifice you to … to him.”

“And I won’t let you allow your bond to unduly influence your decision-making,” Padmé proclaimed.

He could feel himself flushing. “This is not about the bond,” Obi-Wan began hotly. “This is about the family that you and I have worked so hard to build. You’ve taught me that family is important when I was ready to forsake it all. I won’t permit that lesson to go unheeded. The fact that we are together is our strength.”

She opened her mouth to counter his statement, but instead a different voice rang out behind them. “Senator Kenobi, Mon tells me that you’re feeling unwell. What appears to be the problem?”

Obi-Wan helped his wife over to the stairs, where Dr. Ti-Lek was standing. Padmé waved him toward the twins, who were now watching wide-eyed and frightened from the speeder, and he hesitated for just a moment before hurrying down the path. Looking back, he could see Dr. Ti-Lek and Padmé with their heads together, voices low in conversation.

“Daddy!” Luke cried, stretching small arms pleadingly towards his father. Obi-Wan unhesitatingly unbuckled him and lifted him into his arms, where the boy clung on seemingly for dear life.

“Is Mommy okay?” Leia wanted to know.

“She isn’t feeling all that well at the moment,” Obi-Wan said, not seeing any point in a lie. “But Dr. Ti-Lek is going to look at her and make her better, I promise you.”

The little girl fiddled with something in her palm, and her father realized she was clutching the japor snippet necklace. “Are we still going?”

“I hope so, young one.” He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Did your mother give you that?”

“Yeah!” Leia nodded, a small smile blossoming on her face. “She said someone real special gave it to her years an’ years ago. She said it would bring me good fortune.”

Obi-Wan smiled back, but could not match his daughter’s level of glee and curiosity. “She’s right,” he said a little sadly. “Keep that safe, darling, all right?”

“I will,” she promised solemnly.

“Mommy!” exclaimed Luke, and Obi-Wan turned to see Padmé and Dr. Ti-Lek making their way down the path.

“Well?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, her symptoms could be indicative of many different problems, some more serious than others,” the doctor said. “I gave her a full examination, but without conducting further tests, it’s difficult to determine the exact nature of her condition. Given your time constraints, I’d say it would be best to continue with the original plan, and have the medical staff on Alderaan run the appropriate scans once you reach that planet.”

Obi-Wan had to work to keep his mouth from dropping open in shock. “What? But — but did she tell you how ill she just was? Did she mention all of her symptoms? How could those not be indicative of something more serious?”

“The problem, Master Kenobi, is that there isn’t one single condition that causes those symptoms,” Dr. Ti-Lek said patiently. “It could be a minor intestinal virus or she could be going into labour —”

“Labour?” he blurted out.

“— but without testing, I can’t possibly make a final determination. And those tests would take far too long; by the time I was able to complete them you would all be in the hands of the Empire, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good, would it?”

“If Padmé is having the baby, we are not going anywhere,” Obi-Wan declared.

“Darling, please.” Padmé’s hand came to rest gently on her husband’s arm. “Be rational. Dr. Ti-Lek isn’t saying that the baby will be born now. In fact, she examined me and she says that I show none of the signs of early labour. We need to put our worries aside and get going.”

“But there’s a risk, isn’t there?” Obi-Wan shifted his son to his other hip so that he could wrap an arm around his wife.

“Well, of course there’s a risk,” replied Dr. Ti-Lek. “But there is a risk to everything we do, Master Kenobi. When you and your family are on the starship and it prepares to jump into hyperspace, there’s a risk that the hyperdrive may explode. A bit of faulty wiring is all it takes, after all. But you have judged the risk that the Empire will find you to be greater, and thus you are fleeing the planet without regard for the risk presented by the hyperdrive. This situation is similar, and you must treat it as such.”

“Besides,” said Mon, who had come up behind the little group, “if you don’t, I may very well stuff you in the back of that speeder and make sure you all get on that ship.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Oh, and how precisely do you plan to do that?”

Mon’s smile suddenly looked very unpleasant. “Believe me, you do not wish to find out.”

***

In the end he conceded, knowing that there really was very little time in which to make a decision either way. Padmé did appear better, and Obi-Wan realized that the worst part of being potentially captured by the Empire was not the danger to himself and his family, but rather the fact that if they were found to be living on Chandrila, their presence would implicate Mon, Lily and Dr. Ti-Lek, who would almost certainly be executed without trial as enemy collaborators. He couldn’t abide the idea that beings who had shown the Kenobis such unconditional hospitality should suffer this fate, and so finally, after many tearful promises and even more tearful goodbyes, he started the speeder and put it in gear.

“Mon, won’t you please reconsider?” Padmé begged from the passenger seat, extending her hand toward her friend. “There’s room … you and Lily could still come along …”

“I’m sorry, Padmé, but it’s just not possible.” Mon shook her head regretfully. “The Imperial envoy will be here in a half hour, and if I run, Palpatine will have all the evidence he needs to consider me guilty. I need to stay and answer their questions.”

“Lily, then. Send Lily along with us. You and she would see each other again once you rendezvous with us on Alderaan in a few months!”

“No, it would only raise further suspicions. If I’ve sent my daughter away, there’s obviously something in which I don’t want her to be implicated, and they’ll stop at nothing to find out what that is. We need to stay together, and you both need to get going. We’ll see you very soon, I promise.”

“And if we don’t?” Padmé couldn’t keep the quiver from her tone.

“If we don’t, then at least I’ll know you’re safe,” said Mon with certainty. “Now, you must go. Give my warmest regards to Bail and Breha, all right?”

“Oh, Mon, how can I ever thank you —”

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s been my pleasure, every moment of it. Go!”

Obi-Wan stamped on the accelerator before either woman could say another word and the speeder shot forward, away from the only safe haven the Kenobi family had known for the last five months.

Away from that haven, and toward a greater, unknown danger.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

“Obi-Wan, I need to sit down,” Padmé whispered urgently.

“In a minute, darling. I can’t see any easily-accessible chairs.”

“Daddy, I’m thirsty!”

“Here, have some of my canteen. But don’t drink the whole thing; we need the rest to stay hydrated.”

“Mommy, Luke spilled the water!”

“I did not! You pushed me!”

“No I didn’t! You tripped!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not, did not, DID NOT!”

“All right, all right!” Obi-Wan exclaimed as his daughter opened her mouth — to yell back at full volume, no doubt. He ran a tired hand over his face. Had they only reached the ship earlier, they could have gotten on board and been settled by now. But by the time he’d found a suitable place to abandon the speeder, Padmé was sick again, and she needed to rest until the feeling passed. When they reached the starship they’d been confronted with a huge lineup to board, and a passing official had shrugged his shoulders and informed Obi-Wan that there was nothing he could do about it. Now they stood in the interminable line, his wife leaning against him and the twins bickering. It was an utter nightmare.

“Tattletale,” Luke muttered.

“I am not a tattletale!” Leia shrieked.

“That’s enough, both of you,” Obi-Wan said sharply. “I don’t care who did what or when they did it. Discussion closed.”

“But he called me a tattletale!” she protested.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, but we won’t be discussing it anymore. If you and your brother can’t speak to each other without fighting, I will have to separate you both.”

“But Daddy —”

“Leia Annie, you stop that this instant!” Padmé commanded, which put an end to all further speech. “You will do as your father tells you and you will do it right now. Is that quite clear?”

The young girl instantly nodded; her mother’s tone of voice had made it clear that Padmé would brook no arguments. “Yes, Mommy.”

“Please apologize to Dad.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Leia said contritely.

“That’s quite all right.” Obi-Wan had to work only a little to keep a smile off his face.

“And you as well, Luke,” Padmé said.

“But I didn’t —” He interrupted himself immediately at the look his mother gave him. “Sorry, Dad.”

“Luke, Leia, that’s all right,” Obi-Wan said, this time stifling an inner sigh as his wife’s head came back to rest heavily on his shoulder. “It’s just that your mother and I would like a little patience at the moment. She isn’t feeling very well, and we are all afraid and worried. Things will be better when we get on the ship, but for now I need you both to stay quiet and remember the lessons I have taught you. You’ll be a very big help if you do this.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the twins, almost in unison.

The subsequent period of peace did not make the waiting any easier on a physical level, but Obi-Wan was certain the children would behave themselves much better, and they did. He knew that Luke, at least, had an inkling of the difficulties they might have if there were problems in leaving Chandrila, but the boy commendably kept his fear in check. He stuck close to his father’s side, occasionally pressing in for further comfort, sometimes reaching around to grasp Padmé’s hand. Leia occupied herself by gazing around at the other beings lined up behind them, exclaiming over the size of the starship on which they were to travel and expressing excitement that they were to undertake such a journey at all. She was probably afraid like her brother, but Leia dealt with fear differently than Luke; she became more outspoken and brash as if fright, too, was something she could stare down with sheer will and determination.

She is so much like her mother, Obi-Wan thought.

Padmé, for her part, seemed to become more and more exhausted, leaning against her husband until he was bearing most of her body weight. The line inched along, so slowly that Obi-Wan felt quite sure the Imperial official must have made it to Mon’s residence by now. He hoped this official wouldn’t do something smart like closing the planet to all outgoing travelers. It was what he would have done were he in the official’s position, but he was still prone to thinking in terms of military strategy. Four years of service as a general in the Clone Wars had taught him that if one was hoping to snare a particular person in one’s net, the logical course of action to take would be to ensure that all methods of escape were blocked, all modes of transport inspected and cleared, all names and identities checked. However, Obi-Wan also suspected that the Empire owed its survival at least in part to the existence of a large bureaucracy, and it was precisely this which gave him hope that his family might be able to flee Chandrila undetected.

At last the Kenobis stepped up to the bottom of the boarding ramp, where the deckhand was arguing loudly with a Sullustan who wished to bring a large piece of luggage aboard. Obi-Wan was afraid the dispute might flare into a fistfight, but at the last second the deckhand grabbed the suitcase and tossed it as far as he could away from the ship. The Sullustan bellowed an oath and launched himself after the object, flinging a volley of curses over his shoulder that, as far as the Jedi could tell, involved various weapons that this being intended to set on fire and embed in the deckhand’s body cavities. The deckhand merely rolled his eyes and turned towards his new passengers with an automatic smile.

“Final destination?”

“Alderaan,” answered Obi-Wan.

“Your names, please?”

“Ben and Shiimsa Anteron, and the children are Luke and Leia.”

“Purpose of your trip?”

For a moment Obi-Wan’s mouth went dry, but he shrugged the feeling immediately away. “We’re going to visit my sister’s cousin.”

The deckhand barely glanced up from his datapad. “Right, up you go.”

“Pardon me,” Obi-Wan said politely, “but do we not need our assignment to sleeping quarters?”

“Sleeping quarters?” The man looked confused for a moment, then brayed a laugh in the Jedi’s face. “Sleeping quarters! If you wanted sleeping quarters, mister, you shoulda booked your own ship!”

“So you’re saying we may pick whatever rooms we choose?”

Again the deckhand cackled with mirth. “Look, am I not speaking Basic here? This ship don’t have no individual rooms! You go in the general room like everybody else and you sure don’t complain about it. ’Less you want us to throw you off, of course.”

Obi-Wan swallowed again, trying and mostly failing to release the nasty sense of shock he felt. Of course Mon had needed to book them at the last minute, and onto a refugee cruiser … but with Padmé in this condition, they weren’t even going to get a room to themselves?

“Hey, Jace!” the deckhand was now shouting, apparently to a friend of his. “These guys think they get individual rooms!”

An answering guffaw issued from somewhere to the right. “That right? Did you set ’em straight?”

“Sure did! What’s our motto?” And both men chorused, “You get what you get … and you don’t get upset!”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and led his family up the boarding ramp, into a smelly maze of hallways. A faded sign proclaimed that the general room could be found to the left, and that passengers were not permitted anywhere but that general room and two small refreshers on either side of the ship.

He sighed and turned left, guiding the twins in front of him and keeping a firm grasp on Padmé. The general room unspooled at the end of the hall like a slow nightmare, packed as it was with beings of all shapes, sizes and descriptions. Every conceivable space along the walls was filled, such that beings had resorted to slumping awkwardly against one another in the middle. Some were lying down; others simply stood and hopelessly surveyed the crowd. The room stank of sweat and the funk of reptilian stress hormones.

“Hey, one side!” growled a Gran, shoving roughly past the Kenobis. Luke stumbled to his knees from the impact, and in the small amount of time it took to haul the child to his feet, the Gran settled himself in the precise spot — the only spot — that Obi-Wan had had his eye on.

The Jedi sighed again.

“I can’t,” Padmé whispered suddenly, clutching her husband’s shirt as though it might prevent her from floating away. “I just — I’ve got to … sit down …”

“I know, darling.” He tightened his grip once again. “I’m looking for a spot, but it’s very crowded and they won’t give us individual quarters. I already asked.”

“Then mind trick them or something!” she said fiercely, and Obi-Wan found himself glad his wife spoke in an undertone. “I know we’re supposed to be undercover, but I have a feeling that cover will be blown anyway when I collapse!”

“All right, all right.” Under ordinary circumstances he would have preferred to let his robes and the status that came with being a Jedi Master and a decorated general speak for him, but today Obi-Wan wore civilian clothing, a crucial part of their disguise. His family needed a space in which to rest, and it seemed as though a mind trick might be the only way to reliably get such a space.

So, after several moments’ consideration, Obi-Wan led Padmé and the twins to the corner farthest from the door, where a Gotal had already seated his expansive form. This being gazed up as they approached, and the expression on his face was decidedly unwelcoming.

“Hey, what’s the big idea? I had this place staked out before sunrise!”

Obi-Wan descended swiftly into the Force, and with a small and inconspicuous wave of his fingers he whispered, “You will cede this spot to myself and my family.”

“I will cede this spot to you and your family.”

Another twitch of his fingers, and Obi-Wan could feel their opponent bending to his will. “You will leave the ship. You have an important appointment elsewhere.”

“I will leave the ship; I have an important appointment elsewhere,” the Gotal agreed, and in a moment, he had stood and was hurrying for the exit.

Obi-Wan helped Padmé to the floor and settled Luke in her lap, making sure that Leia was close by as he sat down himself. Thankfully, no one around them seemed to have noticed the deception, though both twins were looking at him with naked awe evident on their faces.

“That was so cool, Daddy!” Luke exclaimed. “The way you waved your hand — an’ he just listened!”

“Neat!” Leia nodded.

Obi-Wan nodded too but pressed a finger to his lips, gazing deliberately at the clutter of other beings, and the children grinned, pleased to be trusted with keeping the family secret. He would remember those smiles vividly, as for a long while afterward they represented the last bits of happiness he could recall.

***

She awoke sometime later, though truthfully, Padmé could not recollect having fallen asleep. She knew she must have, since that crushing fatigue was imprinted on her memory as surely as the faces of her family. But never before had she quite had the experience of going from conscious to unconscious, without having made a decision to do so.

“Mommy?”

Luke’s voice — yes, he must still be in her lap. Oddly enough, she remembered Obi-Wan placing him there.

“Hey, Mommy, guess what?”

She was smiling even before she’d opened her eyes. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I can feel the baby kicking!” Her son had pressed his cheek to her swollen abdomen, and his small hand was splayed palm-down. “Yep, right there!”

Padmé ruffled his hair affectionately. “Are you excited for her to get here?” she asked.

“I hope she’s not a girl,” Luke muttered. “There’s too many girls around here anyway.”

“Are not!” exclaimed Leia from her position next to Obi-Wan. He appeared to be teaching her some complex clapping game. “I’m a girl and Mommy’s a girl, but you and Daddy are boys! That’s two an’ two!”

“Yeah, but what if the baby is a girl?”

“You don’t know that,” she shot back.

“I,” Luke said grandly, “can sense it.”

“No you can’t! I’ve felt the baby five million times, an’ I never did!”

“So?”

“So, your —”

“Ah, Luke, Leia, remember what I told you both earlier,” Obi-Wan interrupted. “We’re not to talk about that here.”

Leia stuck her tongue out at her brother, but Luke only laughed.

“So you want her to be a boy?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Yeah, you did!” Luke declared triumphantly.

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at his wife over the tops of the twins’ heads. “Well, I tried to stop them from fighting for as long as I could …”

Padmé laughed, surprising herself. “It’s all right. They do love each other; they’re just … honing their debate skills for a life in politics.”

“Over my dead body,” he replied cheerfully, and captured his daughter’s hands for a renewed round of their game.

Luke, meanwhile, refocused his attention on his mother’s stomach. “Mommy, why’s it all hard?”

“Those are practice contractions,” Padmé explained. “They help my body get ready to push the baby out when she’s born.”

“I still want him to be a boy,” Luke informed his mother.

“But then the boys would outnumber the girls, and that wouldn’t exactly be fair, would it?” she pointed out.

“Leia counts for two, ’cause she talks so much.”

Padmé stifled a laugh. “Oh, is that so?”

He nodded vehemently, ducking back down with his ear to her abdomen. “Yep, definitely a boy.”

“Thank you for that fine professional opinion, Dr. Luke,” Padmé said.

Luke giggled, snuggling in and wrapping his arms around his mother as far as they would go. She kissed his forehead softly and hugged him back, resting her head on the cool wall behind her. As much as Luke was Obi-Wan’s son — and she could see more of her husband in the boy every day — Padmé had never forgotten that he was also hers, and they had a bond entirely apart from that which the Force had given him. She had carried this child within her for eight months, feeling his wiggles and his kicks and his hiccups, and although he shared a special and unique connection with his father that had been passed down through an accident of genetics, it was most often to Padmé that Luke ran when he needed comfort or had hurt himself. It had been she who’d begun the routine of holding him and rocking him before he fell asleep, and before she conceived again, she was the one to wake him, bathe him and put him to bed every night. Her love for him was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, no weaker than her love for Obi-Wan, just inexplicably different. Padmé felt sure that if she were to lose Luke, or his sister, she would also lose a part of herself, and this would be unbearable. Of course, one day she would lose them — metaphorically at least, since they were bound to seek out their own individual roles in the galaxy once they came of age. But there was also the threat of physical loss, a threat posed by the specter of the Empire that one or both of her children would eventually confront. Or perhaps they would be the ones to lose her. This would almost have been an easier proposition for her to confront, except for the fact that she knew it would cause them pain. Her marriage to Obi-Wan had taught her much about letting go and allowing for the will of the Force, but she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to achieve the same levels of detachment as he managed to.

With these thoughts Padmé faded into sleep, though once again she couldn’t remember making a conscious decision to do so. She woke several hours later to find Obi-Wan sharing water and nutrient bars with the twins, and they all ate in companionable silence, trying to ignore the chatter of the beings around them.

This lasted until Luke, who had not moved from his position in her lap, suddenly sat bolt upright and crammed the last of his bar in his mouth. “Doyunnowharfweshis?” he asked.

“Swallow, please,” Padmé directed.

He did, then started to get to his feet. “Mommy, do you know where the fresher is?”

“Just down the hall if I remember right,” she replied. “Here, why don’t you tell Dad, and he’ll take you?”

Luke was already shaking his head as his father turned. “No, Mommy. I want you to.”

He said it with such quiet certainty that Padmé was amazed. Her son sounded more like an adult than a four-year-old child, and yet it made her feel uneasy at the same time. She couldn’t pinpoint precisely why, but she knew that Obi-Wan would object, and probably immediately.

She was right. “Luke, your mother isn’t feeling very well at the moment,” he said gently. “I think it would be best if we left her with Leia while you and I go.”

“No!” Luke hugged his mother tighter. “I hafta go with her! She has to take me!” His voice now held all the petulance of his age, but with an underlying desperation that shocked her.

Obi-Wan placed a placating hand on his son’s. “Little one, come on. Mommy will be just fine, I promise you.”

“No!” the boy repeated, louder now. “She has to take me!”

“Sweetheart …” Padmé captured Luke’s face in her hands, turning it to hers. “Daddy’s right. I’ll stay here with your sister, and it will be fine.”

He merely shook his head, eyes starting to fill with tears as he clung to her, resisting Obi-Wan’s attempts to peel him off.

“Don’t be a baby, Luke,” Leia muttered.

Ordinarily this remark would have earned an angry rejoinder, but Luke merely ignored his sister’s words, now crying openly against his mother’s stomach. She winced, feeling another practice contraction shoot through her as Obi-Wan tried to unclench small fingers from her dress, without success. Sighing, Padmé signaled him to stop.

“Luke, can you tell me why you need me to come with you?” she asked. “Why can’t Daddy help?”

The boy glanced once into his father’s eyes, so quickly that Padmé thought for a moment she’d imagined the interplay. “I just hafta. You wouldn’t understand!” Luke insisted.

Now she felt genuinely concerned. You wouldn’t understand was an argument that she simply never allowed, and her son knew it. The twins had been taught by both parents, but especially by Padmé, that this was a strong-arm tactic, and that if there was something she didn’t understand, it was their job to explain it to her. But now, Luke wouldn’t — perhaps because he couldn’t …?

She chewed her lower lip for a moment, considering, and then with a resigned sigh Padmé extended her hand to her husband. “Darling, if you could help me up …”

Obi-Wan goggled at her. “You can’t be serious! A few hours ago you were so ill you couldn’t stand! How are you going to make it to the refresher?”

“I feel better now,” Padmé replied with a shrug, surprised to discover that she was actually telling the truth. The nausea seemed to have fled, her exhaustion was being easily held at bay and aside from the practice contractions — which she had been experiencing for nearly a month — she felt like her usual self. And since Luke seemed so insistent … well, how could she reasonably refuse him?

The Jedi Master scrubbed a tired hand over his face. “Shiimsa, I just — I don’t feel right about this. Something is going to happen, perhaps even apart and aside from matters on Chandrila. I want you within my sight at all times.”

“Well, I need to use the fresher too,” Padmé decided, smiling at her son. “So Luke and I will go together. Okay, sweetheart?”

Luke nodded enthusiastically.

With a sigh Obi-Wan clasped Padmé’s hand, pulling her to her feet. “Please be careful,” he whispered, not wanting the children to overhear. “Don’t talk to anyone, keep your head down, go right there and right back without making any stops in between —”

“Yes, Father,” said Padmé, rolling her eyes.

“— and don’t let Luke out of your sight,” he finished weakly to the accompaniment of the twins’ giggles. “I’m sorry, I just … I’ve got a bad feeling, and …”

“I know.” Suddenly serious, she trailed soft fingers along his cheek and drew him closer for a kiss. “And we will be careful. I promise.”

He smiled against her lips, grateful that Padmé could be at once laughing, teasing, trying to lighten the mood, and then in the very next moment make a pledge that managed to assuage all his fears. Oh, he loved her. Sometimes he was still taken aback by the depth of that feeling.

“All right, little one, let’s get going.” Padmé took Luke’s hand and began to lead him off across the room, leaving Obi-Wan to sink down beside his daughter and attempt to expunge all thoughts of crimes committed on refugee starships from his mind.

“Daddy?” Leia tugged on his hand.

“What is it, little one?”

“Luke’ll take care of Mommy.” She offered a sunny smile. “Now can I tell you the game Lily showed him an’ me?”

Obi-Wan allowed himself to smile back, releasing the doubts, questions and worries for the Force to handle. “Right. How does it go?”

“Put your hands up like this, please,” Leia directed, raising her arms to shoulder height, palms facing him. “And you gotta clap when you say the words. An’ know what the words are?”

“What are they?”

“Lily said it’s a rhyme, and it goes like, ‘Not last night but the night before, twenty-one banthas came knocking at my door —’”

“Wait a moment,” Obi-Wan interrupted. “Why would a bunch of banthas come to someone’s door?”

“Dunno,” shrugged Leia. “Anyways. ‘Not last night but the night before, twenty-one banthas came knockin’ at my door. I ran out an’ they ran in, hit ’em over the head with a baking pin!’”

Obi-Wan blinked, feeling even more confused. “Darling, you know that a baking pin is used to flatten breads, don’t you?”

“Yeah, so?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“So, I don’t think it would be physically possible to defend yourself against a bantha with one,” he explained.

“Daddyyyyy.” Leia rolled her eyes and shot her father a distinctly Padmé-like glare. “It’s a rhyme. It’s not asposed to make sense.”

“Oh, I see,” chuckled Obi-Wan. “Well, I suppose it works, then.”

“Lily says it’s to play jump cord with,” his daughter informed him. “You hold the cord an’ then you jump to the rhyme, but we don’t gots a jump cord, so …” She shrugged. “She says it can be a clapping game too.”

“You’re giving me quite the education, sweetheart,” Obi-Wan remarked.

Leia tilted her head in consideration. “Am I your Master?”

He ruffled her hair, tugging gently on her braid. “In clapping games, yes.”

She beamed, and her smile soothed his heart. “Luke’ll be so jealous,” Leia declared happily, raising her father’s wrists to match her own. “’Kay, now you try it!”

Feeling rather silly with his arms in the air, Obi-Wan smiled gamely and tried to remember the rhyme’s words — what were they? Something about baking pins and banthas …?

“Not last night but the night before,” prompted Leia patiently.

“Oh. Right, yes. Well.” He cleared his throat. “Not last night but the night before, twenty-one banthas came to my door —”

“Came knocking at my door,” she interrupted. “You forgot the knocking part.”

“Sorry.” Obi-Wan started over. “Not last night but the night before, forty-six banthas came knocking at my door —”

“Twenty-one banthas, Daddy!” Leia exclaimed.

“Oh?” He paused and pretended to look puzzled. “Isn’t that what I said?”

“No! You said forty-six!”

“Oh, yes, I suppose I did,” Obi-Wan nodded. “Well, you’ll have to forgive your father, darling. Daddy’s getting old. He can’t quite remember as well as he used to.”

“You are not!” she cried with a giggle. “You’re just playing tricks on me!”

“Am I?” He peered into her face. “And you are who again, exactly?”

“Bad paddy-wan!” Leia told him, waggling her index finger. “You go right to your room, young man, and no supper for six hundred years!”

Again she reminded him uncannily of his wife. “Oh, Master, please, not that!” Obi-Wan begged, pulling her into his lap. “Anything but that!”

“Mmm … okay.” She grinned. “But you gotta write me fifty-seven pages an’ say how sorry you are!”

“I will, I will, I promise!” He curled the fingers of his left hand into talons behind her back. “But not until I’m done … tickling you!”

And Obi-Wan attacked, holding his daughter in one hand while tickling her stomach with the other. Leia shrieked and tried to pull away, giggling, but he held fast, laughing too and wishing he could bottle this moment, preserve it somehow, take it out and examine it the next time his family’s world fell apart. He didn’t think he had ever heard a sound sweeter than his children’s giggles or felt a sensation more wonderful than the bond filling with shared joy. Leia’s happiness was so innocent, her feelings a warm rush of trust and devotion to himself, Padmé and Luke. Yes, Obi-Wan knew she loved her brother, despite the fact that they bickered. The twins shared a bond as well, but a bond like no other, one that allowed them to sense each other’s emotions almost as acutely as though those emotions were their own. As babies, it had not been unusual for both twins to begin crying even if only one was hurt or upset. Sometimes, when a baby could not be soothed through conventional means, Obi-Wan and Padmé had found that the best remedy was to put them with their brother or sister, whereupon they would almost instantly calm. It had taken a longer while than typical for Luke and Leia to begin talking, since they seemed to have developed their own language and relied so much on non-verbal communication in any case. Their parents knew, though, that the best way to encourage fluency in Basic was not to reprimand the twins for using the made-up language, but rather to employ the preferred method of speech around the children and to show approval when Luke or Leia chose to use it. The twins quickly learned that while they weren’t forbidden from using the “twin talk,” it was much easier for them to make themselves understood to their parents in Basic.

Obi-Wan knew they still used their private language when they were alone together, however. And they often finished each other’s sentences, not seeming to see anything unusual or out of the ordinary about this. He had no doubt that the bond would grow stronger as Luke and Leia became older, and lately he had begun to hope that the new baby wouldn’t feel left out of that connection.

All things begin in their proper time, Obi-Wan … and end.

He jerked his head up, pausing the tickle war momentarily. Those words … it was an old saying of Yoda’s, one the aged Jedi Master had particularly popularized with his classes of younglings, but the voice which had spoken was not Yoda’s. It belonged to …

“Qui-Gon?” he muttered.

At that same moment Leia’s eyes opened wide and she sat bolt upright, tears beginning to fill her eyes. Obi-Wan had barely drawn breath to ask what was wrong when he gasped, blindsided by a sudden wave of pain and terror in the Force. He slumped against the wall, Leia boneless and sobbing in his lap, trying frantically to sort through the emotions and determine their source. What he found made him press a hand to his mouth in shock.

“Luke!” Leia wailed, tugging on her father’s tunic.

The feelings were Luke’s, but they also emanated from somewhere else, somewhere from which Obi-Wan had hoped never to sense such things. He’d known that if he did, it could mean one thing and one thing only.

Padmé was in trouble.

He didn’t stop to think, nor did he pause to comfort his daughter or to glance at the curious stares that they were beginning to attract. Obi-Wan simply scooped up Leia, hoisted her to his hip and dashed to the hall as quickly as he could without being terribly conspicuous. He had no idea what might be the exact nature of the problem, only that wherever she was, whatever she was doing, his wife was in pain, and his son was bearing witness.

Obi-Wan skidded to a halt in front of the aft fresher, not even surprised that he’d picked the right one. He had simply known, instinctively. Hurriedly he set Leia on her feet and leaned close to the door, listening. It was difficult to discern much of significance, though he thought he heard sniffling.

“Luke?”

“Daddy!” called a small voice from inside. “Daddy, help!”

“It’s all right, little one, Leia and I are here.” Sinking briefly into the Force, Obi-Wan sent soothing calm along the bond he shared with his son. “Is the door locked? Can you open the door?”

“I can’t reach!” Another sniffle.

“All right,” Obi-Wan repeated, running quickly through his options. He could use the Force to unlock the door from the outside, but beings were passing through the hall every few moments, and it would appear far too suspicious if he was able to open a door that locked only from the inside. He couldn’t afford to blow their cover, particularly not now. If the feelings he’d sensed earlier were any indication, Padmé would be in no condition to unlock the door either. So …

He bent closer to the door, lowering his voice. “Luke, I need you to do something very special for me. I need you to use the lessons I’ve given you. Can you open the door for me?”

“I can’t reach!” the boy repeated desperately.

“Don’t reach with your hands. Reach with your mind. Take a deep breath, a very deep breath, gather your fear … and breathe it out. Very slowly. Just like I’ve taught you.”

It was a simple exercise, one Obi-Wan had known how to do since he was two years old, but it was the core of what it meant to be a Jedi. Refusing to allow oneself to be controlled by one’s emotions, instead relinquishing them so that the body became an empty vessel for the light to fill. He’d done such work with the twins before, and now was the time to hope that they had internalized it.

A long breath issued from inside the fresher, and Luke felt calmer. He was not devoid of fright the way a Knight or Master would have been, but his father hoped it would be enough. “Very good,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Now, look at the door. Can you see the door?”

Troublingly, a moan issued from inside the fresher, but Luke’s voice was steady as he called, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Close your eyes … and imagine a circle … and a square. The circle is inside the square. It needs to come out of the square. You must take it — very slowly, very carefully — and slide it out. Slide it … slide it … slowly. Very slowly, young one.”

Obi-Wan could almost see his son concentrating the way he did during training sessions, his tongue poking slightly out of his mouth and his eyes tightly shut, face scrunched up as though the boy was trying to recall some elusive name or piece of information. All children looked like that when they were first learning to manipulate the Force, and Obi-Wan had come to the conclusion that it must be a concentration method of sorts. Younglings hadn’t yet mastered the fine art of quieting their minds, such that they had to apply themselves physically as well as mentally to the task. So often they became distracted anyway, and although he hoped this wouldn’t happen with Luke now, he was prepared for the possibility that he might have to help out.

But … a moment passed … and the door clicked, suddenly and abruptly. Obi-Wan tried the knob and it swung open … but he could not permit himself relief or surprise or amazement, not given the emotions he had originally sensed.

Luke was leaning against one wall, his small body shaking, face shining with sweat. Leia got there before Obi-Wan could, and without a word she wrapped her brother in a tight hug.

“Daddy,” Luke whispered against his twin’s shoulder, “it’s Mommy … she …”

But Obi-Wan could see quite plainly what the trouble was. Padmé lay next to the toilet, pale as the wall behind her, wetness gathering around her legs … what was that? Her eyes were closed tightly as he knelt beside her and took her hand.

It was a moment before she responded. “Luke …?”

“No, it’s me,” Obi-Wan said softly. “Darling, what’s the matter? Are you sick again? Did you have an accident?”

She blinked, once, twice, apparently trying to focus on his face. “I’m not a child, Obi-Wan. But …”

“But?” He arched an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

Padmé bit her lip, genuine fright showing in her features. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Darling, I’m so sorry …”

“For what?” Obi-Wan asked. “Padmé, listen. Whatever it is, we will handle it together — calmly and sensibly. I promise you.”

“All right.” She drew a breath, then another. “Dr. Ti-Lek was right. She was right, Obi-Wan. The baby is coming.”


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, taking place from Attack of the Clones on. Padm and Obi-Wan have been good friends for a long time but have now discovered that their romantic feelings are mutual. As their love for one another grows, it will change the galaxy in profound ways ... some for the better, and some for the worse.

An Unexpected Friend

Padmé didn’t think she had ever seen her husband’s mouth drop open. He usually had other ways of expressing surprise, such as a subtle raising of his eyebrows or downward twist of his mouth. Occasionally his disbelief turned verbal, but even in such cases it was always polite and measured. She knew that to a certain extent, it was difficult to surprise Obi-Wan since he was so attuned to the unifying Force.

But she also knew, seeing him now, that she had managed the impossible. He wasn’t just surprised; he was shocked.

“Daddy?” Luke asked, his tone hushed.

“What did you say?” Obi-Wan forced out.

“The baby is coming.” Again guilt stabbed at her. “I’m sorry, darling, I just …”

“But how can you possibly know? You heard what Dr. Ti-Lek said; it might just be a virus! Or … or an infection!”

“My water broke,” Padmé admitted, gesturing to the liquid pooling around her ankles. “And from what I’ve read, once that happens, the child is usually ready to be born. I thought I was just getting practice contractions, but now … I think they’re real.”

“But — but —” He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, closed it again, and then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, gasped out, “But I can’t — I don’t know how to — to — deliver a baby!”

“You won’t need to, darling.” She clasped his hand, willing herself to remain calm for all their sakes. “My body will do most of the work. Women have been giving birth naturally on Naboo for thousands of years without medical assistance. I’ll be fine.”

“But this is exactly why you didn’t want to go right to Tatooine!” Obi-Wan protested. “You said there was no medical care there, no proper facilities! This is hardly different than if we’d been there!”

“Well, of course this isn’t an ideal situation,” Padmé agreed. “I don’t see there’s anything we can do about it, though. I assume we already went to hyperspace some time ago.”

“We did, but —”

He interrupted himself as her grip tightened suddenly, painfully, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Quickly Obi-Wan shifted forward, pulling his wife against his body and holding her, softly stroking her hair. Her breath came heavily for several moments before she slumped tiredly, releasing his hand.

“Sorry,” Padmé whispered.

“Darling, don’t apologize,” Obi-Wan said gently, pulling back to smooth her hair. “It’s not your fault, you know it isn’t. It’s simply … unfortunate timing.”

“Mommy?” Luke ventured quietly. In their distraction, his parents had nearly forgotten the twins were in the room, and Luke now crouched next to his mother with Leia close behind.

“It’s all right, little one,” Padmé managed, stroking his hair. “You’ve done very well. Thank you.”

“Are you okay?” Tears welled in his eyes.

“The baby is coming,” she explained. “I guess she’s decided she wants to be with us a little earlier than we’d thought. But I’ll be okay. And you both will get to meet here, like you’ve been so excited to. Won’t that be fun?”

Luke didn’t look convinced, and Obi-Wan didn’t blame him. No matter what sort of positive spin Padmé attempted to put on their situation, the fact remained that it could potentially be a very dangerous one for both her and the child. The pregnancy had been a difficult one already, and there was no way to know what tricks her body might have up its sleeve for the delivery. It had already played one by making her go into labour now, far away from medical facilities and those who could conceivably help. That was the reason they hadn’t simply gone on to Tatooine. But now, it might not matter.

There suddenly came a loud banging on the door, followed by a string of bellowed words uttered in an alien tongue. Obi-Wan couldn’t understand it, but he had a fairly good idea of the intent.

“We’ll have to move, darling,” he said gently to Padmé, hating himself that it was even necessary, trying to swallow down fear. “We can’t stay here forever; people will start to get annoyed.”

She blanched. “Obi-Wan, I can’t go back in there. I can’t. I can’t have the baby on that starship floor —”

“Well, you can’t have her on this floor either,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Listen to me. I promise you, we will work something out. But right now we need to get out of here.”

“I can’t … I can’t walk … hurts too much …”

“I’ll carry you,” he soothed. “Here —”

Obi-Wan bent to lift her to the tune of another volley of bangs. “Kriff,” he muttered, annoyed.

“You said a bad word,” Leia informed her father.

“I’m aware of that, Leia,” Obi-Wan sighed, as with both the Force and his own strength he attempted to scoop Padmé into his arms. “But this isn’t exactly an appropriate time to —”

“Mommy says we shouldn’t say bad words,” she interrupted imperiously. “She says it’s rude and crude. She says there’s other ways we can say we’re mad.”

In his arms, Padmé chuckled softly. “My little protocol droid.”

“Is there an off switch?” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

Again she laughed, and Obi-Wan found himself glad for the distraction. “She’s just doing what I told her to do. I gave them a real lecture when I first heard them swearing at each other. Obviously it made an impression.”

“Obviously.” He maneuvered toward the door, palming open the lock. “Luke, Leia, we’re going back to the common room, all right? Both of you, please hold on to my belt, and don’t let go until I tell you that you can. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Luke said in a small voice, grabbing on immediately.

“You should say you’re sorry,” was Leia’s answer, but luckily she obeyed her father’s request.

The little group moved hurriedly out of the refresher, passing the large being that had been banging on the door. Thankfully this being seemed far more interested in gaining access to the tiny room than he did in continuing to berate the Kenobis, and Obi-Wan was glad for this. So much had already gone wrong, and he hoped against hope that somehow, in some way, the space the family had vacated might still be available for occupancy when they returned. The universe owed them this much given the tricks it had already played on them, didn’t it?

Unfortunately it wasn’t to be. As they rounded the corner to venture back into the general room, Obi-Wan’s heart sank. Two large Dugs had positioned themselves in the precise corner that was needed, and they were glaring menacingly at all beings that even looked at them askance.

“Hey, no fair!” Leia complained. “Someone took our spot!”

In his arms, Padmé stirred. “Oh, no,” she murmured faintly. “Obi-Wan, can’t you mind trick them again?”

Obi-Wan dropped his gaze quickly to avoid the Dugs’ eyes. “I … don’t think that would be wise, darling. We can’t attract attention, and I think we’d attract rather a lot of it if they were in any way wronged.”

“But I can’t have the baby in the middle of the floor!”

He bit his lip, indecision seizing him. This was a monstrously difficult situation, any way one looked at it. Unsanitary, noisy, probably disease-ridden, and certainly without the qualified medical professionals they’d hoped to have on hand to attend her. Instead there was … well, there was only him, since he doubted the twins would be of much use. Despite all the worlds Obi-Wan had traveled to and all the things he’d done, he had never, not once, had occasion to learn how to deliver a baby. And this wasn’t just any baby — this was his own son or daughter. He’d seen the twins being born, but the medical droids on Polis Massa had done most of the work and he couldn’t exactly remember that time very clearly anyway. Nor did he want to.

What were they going to do?

“It’s going to happen again,” Padmé moaned, and by the way she tensed he knew she meant another contraction.

“All right … all right, just relax, it’ll be all right, I’ll find us somewhere …” Obi-Wan understood that he was babbling but couldn’t do much about it; there was so much going on in that moment and he felt that if time would just stop for awhile, or even slow down, he might be able to relax and formulate a plan. But that was merely wishful thinking, and it wouldn’t help. His family needed action, and they needed someone who could step in and take authoritative control of the situation. He had no idea if he was that person, but he was also the only person who could.

Hurriedly he scanned the room, looking for somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t occupied. Finally his gaze lit on a space in the centre of the room, where beings sat or lay back to back. It certainly wouldn’t be perfect, but perfection was not to be quibbled over at the moment.

They made their way over, the twins bumping and stumbling behind their father — for Obi-Wan was moving rather fast, in anticipation of his wife’s distress. With a terse nod to Luke and Leia he kneeled, depositing their mother as carefully as he could on the hard floor. They knelt beside him as he slid one arm behind Padmé’s back as a form of support and with his other hand clutched her fingers, stroking them gently.

“Squeeze my hand,” he whispered. “Just squeeze it as hard as you want. It won’t hurt me, I promise.”

She nodded miserably, tears beginning to streak her cheeks, and buried her head in his tunics to shield herself from the stares of curious onlookers, which were beginning to grow numerous. Her body tensed and shook with suppressed pain, gripping Obi-Wan’s hand tightly enough that his circulation felt cut off. The twins moved closer, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Leia digging in her pocket for something.

Presently Padmé relaxed, but only physically — by the shake of her shoulders he knew she had begun to cry in earnest, and her fear battered his senses like the roar of a continuous flame. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt her like this … perhaps when she had been in danger of losing their child, but even that was nothing compared to the firestorm of the moment.

Leia crawled around to the side, gently patting her mother’s shoulder. “Mommy?”

It took a moment, but slowly Padmé turned, hastily wiping her eyes. “What is it, sweetheart?”

The girl opened her hand, revealing the tiny japor snippet charm.

“If you’re scared, you can have my necklace,” Leia said solemnly.

***

Later, Obi-Wan was never sure how their daughter’s simple gesture had lightened the mood; he knew only that it did. Shortly after their return to the general room, the lights were dimmed, and the majority of beings present took that as a sign that they should go to sleep. It was much quieter without the constant babble of speech, and to the surprise of both parents, Luke and Leia elected to lie down as well. Normally the twins complained vociferously at any mention of bedtimes, Leia more so than her brother, but they seemed to recognize that this was a special circumstance. Luke was far more reluctant to succumb to sleep, but he finally agreed to close his eyes when his father promised that the boy would be woken if his assistance was needed.

The twins having bedded down, Obi-Wan slid closer to where Padmé lay, stroking her cheek. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“The contractions are getting more frequent,” she said, the ever-present fear still evident in her eyes. “First they were every half-hour, then every twenty minutes. Now they happen every fifteen.”

“How long does that give us?”

Padmé lowered her gaze. “I’m not sure. I — well, I don’t exactly remember what it was like with Luke and Leia. My memory goes from collapsing on the platform to waking up in that medical centre, and about an hour after that, they were born. There’s nothing in between. And I know the medical droids induced labour, so there’s no way to tell how long it would take for me naturally. You’re … you’re going to have to check.”

“Check?” Obi-Wan blinked. “Check what?”

“Check me, inside, to see how close I am to my time,” she said, as though this was a matter as simple as glancing out the window to see if it was raining. “Dr. Ti-Lek did it all the time, she would just stick her finger up —”

“Hang on a moment!” he blurted out. “I’m not a healer, or a — a doctor, I don’t know what to look for! And I thought you said your body would do most of the work!”

Some of the fear flickered back across Padmé’s face. “That’s what I hope, but I don’t know for sure. My body hasn’t done a lot of what it was supposed to this time around. So I’m not sure what will happen. And I just … I can’t …” Her voice shook, and she seemed to be near tears again.

“I know.” Obi-Wan gathered her quickly into his arms, regretting his earlier outburst. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Why did she have to come now?” Padmé whispered miserably.

“I’m not sure,” he replied, knowing this wasn’t the time to begin talking about the will of the Force. “But we will get through it, together, just as we always have. Isn’t that what you keep telling me?”

Her voice was so soft he had to lean down to catch the words. “I know. I just can’t believe it right now.”

Obi-Wan was trying to formulate a reasonable response to this when a voice suddenly boomed out behind him, “Well, by the gods! I can’t believe it’s you!”

Padmé jumped, and Leia mumbled in her sleep but didn’t wake up. Obi-Wan would have ignored all of this except for the fact that the beings around them were beginning to turn, some even rousing themselves from sound slumber, to look at the Kenobis and the figure who had spoken.

Damn.

“I — I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You’ve got the wrong person, I’m afraid I don’t know you.” Please let them leave …

“Oh, but I do!” the being said, lowering his voice slightly. And then, even more quietly, so that no one else could hear, “Turn around, Obi-Wan.”

A chill slithered up his spine. As bad as matters were before, they had just become about a thousand times worse. This being, whoever he was, clearly knew of the Jedi’s actual identity, and if he planned to divulge it, there wasn’t much Obi-Wan could do to stop him. Unless he drew out his lightsaber from where it was concealed and struck down the interloper before he could say another word … but then there would be the rather significant issue of a roomful of witnesses, some of whom were unlikely to keep quiet about what they’d seen … no, he would have to kill or mind-trick the whole room, but what sort of a person would that make him? What sort of a Jedi? No …

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan turned, his wife still supine in his lap, his mind buzzing with alternate plans. Did this being have a better nature to which he could appeal? Would he consent to keep silent for the good of the Kenobi family?

And then Obi-Wan barely restrained a jolt of surprise.

Standing before him was an enormous Besalisk, wearing a plain white shirt with many stains on it and a huge smile. Dexter Jettster reached one of his four long arms down towards the Jedi, and Obi-Wan carefully stood to acknowledge his friend. “I can’t believe this,” Obi-Wan muttered. “Of all the places to run into you —”

“Listen, I’ve got something to show you,” Dex interrupted, carefully glancing at the curious phalanx of beings around them. “C’mon, with me.”

“Dex, where —”

The Besalisk lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper. “Some place we can talk. Alone.”

***

Padmé dragged herself back towards consciousness, realizing again that she couldn’t remember having fallen asleep. It took her a moment, in fact, to recall where she was and why she was there, and that there was something wrong … she felt sure that she should be afraid, and desperately so — but why …?

Pain seized her, and realization rushed back. The baby — the baby was coming — and the twins — they were on a starship — and where was Obi-Wan? He’d been holding her before, but now …

She groped blindly, her voice strangling in her throat amid the pain. This had to be the strongest contraction yet, and it was ripping her — tearing her — surely she would be nothing but a broken pile of bones by the end of this and she couldn’t possibly survive … the birth would do what the Sith had failed to accomplish.

“Padmé, darling, are you all right?”

Padmé clung to his voice, reaching out, her hand waving wildly. In a moment he’d clasped it and was squeezing tightly, pulling her to recline in his lap. She concentrated on breathing, on the reassuring presence behind her and beneath her, and gradually the contraction ebbed.

“There, darling,” Obi-Wan soothed, his free hand moving softly over her face. “It’s finished. It’s all finished. You’re all right.”

She forced open her eyes, finding to her surprise that they were not in the crowded general room of before, but instead in a large, open space that seemed to be crowded with crates, boxes and luggage of all descriptions. Padmé looked questioningly up at her husband, puzzled.

“This is Dex’s space,” he explained. “Dexter — the Besalisk — he’s a very old friend of mine. I met him when I was still apprenticed to Qui-Gon; he was running a restaurant in the Outer Rim that was actually a cover for a weapons dealership.”

“But — but —” Padmé struggled to process this. “How do you know we can trust him?”

“We can, I promise you,” Obi-Wan told her. “He’s moved on to far more legal endeavours since then, or at least he had the last time I saw him. He’d opened another restaurant in Coco Town, back on Coruscant. I’m not sure why he isn’t still there, but he would be no friend of the Empire.”

“Damned right I wouldn’t,” came a voice behind them, and Padmé turned to see the Besalisk with her children in tow, punching a code into a door lock. Luke and Leia, spotting their mother awake, immediately ran to her.

“Why did you have to leave, Dex?” Obi-Wan asked. “Or are you still running the diner?”

“Oh no, I had to get out of that business about four years ago now,” Dex sighed. “Once Palpatine and his gang passed Order 7313, I didn’t have a choice. Gave my heart and soul to Bagwa and went underground. Broke my heart to do it, but there was no other way.”

“Order 7313?”

“The Act for the Regulation and Control of Non-Human Aliens,” Padmé spoke up softly, and all eyes turned to her. “I remember it very well. Palpatine was trying to push it through when he was still Chancellor, but there was too much opposition even from his allies. Order 7313 was part of that ridiculous Sector Governance Decree, but buried so deeply within it that you’d miss it if you weren’t paying close attention. It was the only part of the decree that his toadies refused to champion.”

“Exactly.” Dex was nodding as he made his way over to the little group. “You’ve got yourself an expert there, Obi-Wan. Talking of which … you’ve been busy since I saw you last!” His eyes found Luke and Leia, coming to rest on Padmé’s expansive abdomen.

She didn’t even need to look to know her husband was blushing deeply. “Er — yes. Dexter, this is my wife, Padmé, and our children, Leia and Luke. And another on the way, in a very literal sense.”

“Ah.” The Besalisk sat down with a thud, not seeming perturbed by this information. “Wife, eh? So they finally deep-sixed those rules, did they?”

“Not exactly.” Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably. “We married several years ago, about seven months after the rise of the Empire. The Order had permitted me the relationship, but not the marriage.”

“Right. Well, you’ve got yourself a lovely family there, if I do say so myself. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Padmé, Luke, Leia.” Dex shook hands with each person in turn, the twins surprisingly unconcerned about this being nearly three times their size. Perhaps they were taking their cues from Obi-Wan, Padmé thought.

It was the latter who spoke now. “Dex, this — er — place you’ve got here, what exactly is it? I was under the impression they didn’t give out individual rooms on these cruisers.”

“Ah, well, what they don’t know can’t hurt ’em,” Dexter winked. “This is the only way to travel if you’ve gotta go by one of them cruisers. And the pilots don’t wanna police where you go — too damned smelly and messy for them. Nope, s’long as nobody else sees you and thinks you’re sneakin’ off, you’re home free. I crawled in here at dawn and nobody’s bothered me ever since. Wouldn’t even have come near the general room if I didn’t think I’d seen you getting on.”

“Well, I’m glad you did, as we’ve got a bit of an emergency right now.” Briefly Obi-Wan explained about Padmé’s pregnancy, the family’s flight from Naboo and then Chandrila, and their situation of the moment. “So you see,” he finished up, “she went into labour around four or five hours after we’d gone into hyperspace, and we didn’t want to attract attention by asking them to turn the ship around. And it would have been far too dangerous in any case.”

“They wouldn’ta turned around anyway.” The Besalisk shook his massive head. “Providin’ you’d been able to get up to the cockpit in the first place, which is quite a trick, they’d laugh at you. Nope, best thing to do is stay right where you are, and hope the kid don’t come ’til you’re ready for him.” He chuckled.

Padmé bit her lip. “I — I don’t think that’s an option,” she said, fright creeping back into her voice. “The — the contractions are so strong now, I think it’s only a matter of time. How long until we reach Alderaan?”

“Still another day and a half, at least,” Obi-Wan replied. He looked helplessly at Dexter. “Dex, I don’t know the first thing about delivering a baby, much less my own child. We were never trained with this sort of situation —”

Dexter chuckled. “So they didn’t teach you basic first aid at this fancy-shmancy Jedi academy of yours?”

“Of course they did, but this was not part of the curriculum!”

“Then you got gypped, I’d say,” the Besalisk said. “Oh, Obi-Wan … never did I think, in all my days …”

“Neither did I, but here we are, and here she is, so —”

“Darling …” Padmé rested a placating hand on her husband’s shoulder.

Obi-Wan paused, his gaze landing on the twins, whose heads were swiveling back and forth between their father and Dexter as though they were at a net-ball game. Sighing, the Jedi scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I just — I’m concerned, and I don’t know what I should do to help you …”

Dexter smiled warmly. “Hey, old buddy, I wouldn’t worry about it. Most kids pop out practically all by ’emselves, believe me. Gods only know humans’ve been having babies forever, or you guys wouldn’t exist.”

“I told you, though … this hasn’t been a typical pregnancy …”

“Well, we’ll think about that if we need to and no sooner,” Dex replied, which Obi-Wan supposed was his friend’s version of “until the possible becomes actual, it is only a distraction.”

He decided to heed his Master’s words.

“Now then.” The Besalisk clapped both pairs of hands together, and the twins jumped. “How far along is she? Have you tried to see if she’s close to her time?”

“Er — no,” Obi-Wan said, feeling his cheeks heat up again. “We were, erm, about to do that when you came along.”

“I see. Good. Well, we’ll give you a bit of privacy.” Dexter motioned to Luke and Leia. “C’mon, guys, lemme show you my stash.”

“Your stash?” Leia asked hesitantly — but not, Obi-Wan noted, without a bit of interest.

“Yeah, food, drinks, it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet over there. C’mon!”

Leia began to scamper after the Besalisk, but Luke looked uncertainly at his parents.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan smiled. “Remember what I told you before? Dex is one of my very good friends.”

“Does he have candy?” Luke asked.

“I don’t know, actually. Why don’t you follow your sister and find out?”

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Padmé said, interpreting her son’s hesitation. “You can come right back and show me what you’ve found, all right?”

“’Kay,” he answered finally, and trotted off after Leia.

“Er — right.” Beside her, Obi-Wan was looking very uncertain. “How exactly do I … erm …”

“I told you.” She gritted her teeth, sensing the approach of another contraction. “You’ll be able to tell with your finger how close I am to my time … if you reach up as far as you can and feel a hard ring of muscle, then I’m not there yet and we’ll have a bit more time to wait.”

“And if I don’t? Feel it, I mean.”

“Then you’d best get yourself ready to deliver a baby,” Padmé snapped, sick of pretenses. “Obi-Wan — there’s another —”

“All right — all right, here.” Still clasping her hand, he moved around behind her, settling again on the floor. “Will this help, having someone to lean against?” And so saying, Obi-Wan pulled her backwards, slowly, carefully, until her back came to rest against his chest and his arms clasped hers. It was a version of the backwards embrace that they both loved, except that they remained seated.

“Yes — just —” She drew in a breath as the wave broke, feeling her husband’s grip tighten instinctively around her. The touch felt good, soothing, as did his soft, nonsensical whispers of comfort. And he was certainly better as a cushion than the crates that lined the walls.

“Are they getting stronger?” Obi-Wan asked at length, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck.

Padmé nodded, her eyes sliding closed in exhaustion. “I think so. They hurt … a lot more than they first did. I was probably having them for a few days, as I told you before … but I just didn’t know.”

“Ah.” He shifted in a way that meant he was uncomfortable. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

She kept her eyes closed as he did it, part of her resenting the intrusion into an area already so sensitized. And there was the memory of all the other times he had done this, in situations far more intimate, the kinds of situations that had gotten them into this mess in the first place. Though Padmé didn’t really want to think of it as a mess. She had expended so much time and energy hoping for this child, wishing for this child. It was only misfortune and the baby’s aptitude for surprising them (which he or she excelled at) that were responsible for their current predicament.

“So?” Padmé said when it was over. “What did you feel?”

A blush stood out bright on his cheeks. “I — I’m not … sure, exactly. I couldn’t feel his head. I think he’s still up there. There was a — a semicircle, which I thought might be something … does that make sense?” Obi-Wan trailed off half-hopefully and half-desperately.

She closed her eyes, thinking. “I’m probably about halfway,” Padmé murmured after a moment. “I would be partially open, but not fully, so …”

“So how long does that give us?”

“I’m not sure. Not long enough to get to Alderaan, I don’t think. But perhaps long enough to rest.”

Padmé looked back at him, clamping down again on her fear.

It would be a long night.

_**Info:**_ This will be the last chapter to *To Ignite the Stars*.

+++ R.I.P. Liz +++


End file.
